


wild flower

by freyjaa



Series: wild flower [1]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Angst, Bandits & Outlaws, F/F, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Red Dead Redemption, Kidnapping, Minor Violence, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Well - Freeform, you wanted alaska as a wealthy debutante resigned to marry for her family?, you wanted sharon as the bandit who kidnaps her?, you wanted western hijinx and a slow romance that revolves around the idea of freedom?, you've come to the right place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 82,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23300281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjaa/pseuds/freyjaa
Summary: Alaska is sent out West by her father to live with her uncle, and to find a wealthy man to marry, despite her reluctance to do just that. She's there a week before Sharon Needles and her gang raid the house and kidnap Alaska for the information she's stupidly gotten ahold of.Alaska just wants to escape the bandits and return to normalcy, especially with the looming threat that is Lawrence Solomon. But as she and Sharon grow closer, and the restrictions of society become clearer and clearer, the desire to return to her old life becomes one she's only pretending to have.It doesn't hurt that Sharon's much more appealing than any man she ever saw.
Relationships: Sharon Needles/Alaska Thunderfuck 5000
Series: wild flower [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805251
Comments: 131
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “Wild women are an unexplainable spark of life. They ooze freedom and seek awareness, they belong to nobody but themselves, yet give a piece of who they are to everyone they meet. If you have met one, hold on to her, she’ll allow you into her chaos, but she’ll also show you her magic.”
> 
> \- Nikki Rowe, author

Alaska has always been fascinated with bandits.

Bandits, criminals, gangs - anyone with a bounty on their head. Not that the bounty or even the criminality of it all attracted her - no, it was the freedom.

Alaska has also always been wealthy.

These two constants do not go well together.

As a child, the contrast was easier to navigate, as her only duties were her lessons, and the rest of her time was spent however she wanted to spend it. Her wildness was enacted through imaginary horses and people to shoot, drawing from the tales of her father’s friends from the West. She had grass stains on her skirts constantly, and although her mother berated her for her unladylike play, it could be chalked up to just that: play.

As she got older, the contrast was too much. She was in polite society, she needed to find a husband, and she was the lady of the household. She had to give up one, wealth or freedom, and only one made sense to let go of. It wasn’t a hard choice, anyway - she’d stopped believing in running wild on the frontier somewhere around her mother’s death.

Which is why, when her father tells her she’ll be visiting her uncle in Colorado for the summer, the thrill she might have gotten as a child is absent in the place of a sickening dread that sits in her stomach like a dead weight.

“He’s invited you,” he’d said to a stunned Alaska over breakfast one morning. “And I thought you could use the fresh air - God knows this city is starting to smell now that it’s thawing.”

Alaska had pressed her lips together, frowning at him. “I don’t–”

“I told him you would love to go,” her father had interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “This is a great way to find someone wealthy to marry, since the options here clearly aren’t up to your standards.”

The snide comment hadn’t gone past her, and she’d lapsed back into silence, unable to argue and tell him that her ‘standards’ won’t ever be met, so tough luck. That wasn’t an option, especially considering her father’s newspaper wasn’t selling as much now that the war was over.

This visit is her last chance to find a husband wealthy enough to make it worth it, and she knows that she needs to return to her father with a ring on her finger.

Now, she sits on the train to Coady, heart heavy with her resolution. She looks out the window to take her mind off of the sick feeling in her stomach, clenching her fist in the folds of her skirt. It’s easy to get lost in the pale browns and greens of the plains, easy to feel comfort in the mountains that look blue in the distance. It’s easier to think that maybe she’ll find a man she really loves if he comes from a place that looks like this.

She nearly laughs at herself. Unlikely.

🌸

Alaska has been in Colorado a week, and there has been no mention of a ball, or even of a dinner. She hasn’t seen another person besides her uncle and his servants - and even then, it’s mostly been his servants. If it isn’t mealtime, her uncle is locked in his office, going over papers and sending out letters at least twice a day.

Alaska has picked up enough of the servants’ whispered gossip to understand that his plantation has been slowly going under in the eight years it’s been since the war, and her uncle has now been reduced to scraping the bottom of the barrel for his income. She isn’t sympathetic - it’s deserved.

Things, however, are getting a little boring.

She sighs, turning over in bed and staring at the stars through the large window in her room, the wind blowing the linen curtains in a hypnotizing manner. Three months of nothing, and she won’t even get a husband out of it.

No husband. She allows herself a moment to pretend like it was a possibility, something like longing trapping itself in her throat.

She’s just closing her eyes to sleep when the sound of a horse galloping towards the house makes them shoot open, a man shouting her uncle’s name as the horse’s hoofbeats slow to a stop.

“Thunder!” the man bellows. He begins pounding on the door, each knock seemingly louder than the last. “Philip Thunder, get your ass out here!”

Alaska slips out of bed, heart pounding, and kneels beside the window. She’s at a decent enough angle that she can see the man clearly, his horse standing a few feet behind him. It’s hard to see in the darkness, but it’s clear he isn’t a gentleman, with a dusty gallon hat on his head that shields his face and a dirty jacket to match. There’s a long rifle hooked onto his horse, and her eyes widen at the sight.

The door swings open, and her uncle emerges with a lantern, looking hunted. “Be quiet!” he snaps in a hushed whisper, and Alaska has to strain to hear him. “You’re going to wake the whole household.”

“They know,” the man says simply, ignoring her uncle. He has a thick accent, and it’s jarring next to her uncle’s harsh New York vowels. Her uncle’s arm sags at the news, lowering the lantern so that their faces are barely lit. Alaska hisses in frustration, narrowing her eyes to try and read their expressions.

“Needles?” her uncle says, voice even quieter. Alaska risks poking her head out the window a little bit in order to hear better, holding her breath in fear of being caught.

“No, the fuckin’ Pope,” the man sneers. “Who the fuck else?”

Her uncle’s response is drowned out by the locusts buzzing in the trees. There’s a long period of silence, and Alaska can hear her heart beating in her ears, adrenaline running through her veins in response to listening to a conversation she shouldn’t. What the hell was going on?

“So?” the man prompts, stepping closer to her uncle. “What do you suggest we do?”

There’s a pause as her uncle visibly takes a breath. “Come here tomorrow at supper,” he says, voice a little stronger now. “Bring Solomon. We can make a plan then.”

“Didn’t you hear me? Needles is onto us, which means–”

“I know!” Her uncle snaps, posture stiffening. “Trust me, I’m well aware. I can’t make a plan right now. Give me a day, and we’ll discuss the rest tomorrow. I promise we’ll get out of this.”

“If we don’t,” the man says, voice low, “Needles isn’t the one you need to watch out for.” And with that, he steps back, walking back to his horse. “Expect us at six,” he says as he swings up on his horse, and with that, he gallops away, leaving a trail of dust in his wake. Her uncle stands there for a long time, staring in the direction he went even after he’s no longer visible. All Alaska can hear is the locusts’ chirping.

Her uncle, finally, turns to go inside, and she ducks under the window sill as the lantern light swings over the side of the house. She listens as he opens the door, muttering something incomprehensible, and shuts it behind him. The stairs creak as he returns to his room, and she doesn’t let herself relax until she hears his door close quietly.

She sags against the wall, brushing the hair sticking to her face away and plucking at her nightgown, battling the humidity and her own sweat. She looks at the bed, but she doesn’t think she’s going to be able to sleep, not with the heat and certainly not after what just happened.

It was a gang. It couldn’t be anything else - it wasn’t any sort of legal business, judging by the other man’s appearance. Her uncle was dealing with bandits and criminals, probably to help him out of whatever debt he’s put himself into in order to keep this place afloat.

A fission of excitement runs through her even through the fear and apprehension, and she can’t help but think that at least something is happening. Even if it’s putting everyone in the house’s lives at risk.

You can’t trust a bandit. They’re lawless, and the law exists for a reason: to keep people sane. Who knows what these men will do to her uncle if this Needles ends up finding them?

Who knows what Needles is going to do to them if he ends up finding them?

The thrill is fading away now, giving way to real fear. This is real. Bandits are real, but they’re not like what Alaska dreamed them up to be as a child. They kill people, innocent or not, and they steal whatever they want. They live like animals and call it freedom.

They’re all these things, and they’re coming to dine with them at her uncle’s like they’re family friends.

Alaska is definitely not getting any sleep tonight.

🌼

Dinner is awkward.

It’s spent in silence, the dirty, roughed up men clearly unsure of how to behave at a proper dining table and her uncle silent with embarrassment over it. There are four of them, all with scruffy beards and pistols on their belts, with the clear leader sitting to her uncle’s right.

One of the men coughs, and Alaska jumps at the sudden noise.

“Jesus,” she mutters to herself, ignoring her uncle’s sharp look and instead setting down her fork. She looks at Philip, plastering as pleasant and unassuming a smile she can muster over her face. “May I be excused?”

The leader of the group, Cassidy, slumps in relief. “Thank God,” he says loudly, and she recognizes his voice as the man her uncle had spoken to last night. “We can get some business done.”

Her uncle gives him a disbelieving look, and Alaska tries to look like she doesn’t have a clue as to what he’s talking about. Cassidy raises his hands in silent apology, and her uncle sighs, rubbing his eyes. He looks stressed out of his mind.

“You can go, Alaska,” he says, having lost any sense of decorum with Cassidy’s language.

Alaska nods at him, and then she’s out of the dining room in a second.

She slips out the door with a quiet notice to one of the servants, intent on walking her anxieties out around the grounds and hoping that she’ll tire herself out to the point of becoming calm. With half a mind to ride a little before the sun sets, she decides to head towards the stables, well away from anything happening inside the house.

Expecting to be alone once she reaches the stables, Alaska nearly screams as she runs into a woman leaning against one of the stalls, petting Poundcake’s nose.

“Jesus!” Alaska yelps, and the woman snaps to attention, hand at her hip in the blink of an eye. She lets her hand hover there, eyes wary as she stares at Alaska.

“I’m so sorry,” Alaska says, raising her hands up in apology. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The woman frowns at her, seemingly confused. Her hand drifts away from her hip, and Alaska’s eyes follow it, briefly distracted by the tight pants she’s wearing. It’s scandalous, and Alaska is beginning to understand why.

“I really didn’t mean to interrupt,” Alaska says into the tense silence, forcing herself to tear her eyes away from the woman’s hips and to her face.

“Interrupt?” The woman asks, still frowning. She’s relaxing, however, and Alaska feels strangely gratified by it.

“Your stable work,” Alaska says. “You’re the stablehand, right?”

The woman’s eyebrows twitch up before her lips twist up into a smirk. The expression suits her. “Right. Well, I’m not bothered.” She gives Alaska a clear once over, her smirk only growing. “Not at all.”

Alaska feels a flush crawl up her neck, her dress suddenly feeling a little warm. “Great,” she says, awkward. “I came - I just needed to get out of the house.”

“Let me guess: a man?”

Alaska snorts, even as the reminder makes something unpleasant churn in her stomach. “More like several.” The woman just smiles, revealing a small gap between her teeth. It’s strangely endearing. Alaska quickly shoves the thought away, afraid of it leading to more dangerous ones, and instead takes the opportunity to examine the woman’s strange outfit.

She looks more like a cattle rustler than a stablehand, with her wide brimmed hat and dark overcoat, but Alaska supposes things are different out west. Her hair is down, reaching the middle of her shoulder blades and blowing attractively in the wind. It’s so dark that, when paired with her dark hat, her face appears almost ghostly.

She’s beautiful, with her high cheekbones and plump lips, but there’s something about her that puts Alaska on edge.

“What?” the woman says, tilting her head. “Is there something on my face?”

“You’re beautiful,” Alaska blurts out, and then her heart stops. “I mean no, wait, no, I mean–”

“What’s your name?” the woman cuts in, and Alaska grabs onto the question like a lifeline.

“Alaska,” she says in relief.

“Pleasure,” the woman says, smirking again. There’s a brief pause before she lets out a huff of laughter. “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

Alaska laughs. “Knowing the stablehands isn’t exactly my priority,” she says, allowing her own smirk to come through. “But now it seems like it should have been.”

The woman smiles slowly, her expression softening. Alaska feels something flutter in her stomach at the thought that she may have caused the shift. “You sure know how to flatter a girl,” the woman says. There’s a moment in which she just looks at Alaska, eyes darting across her face. “Sharon Needles.”

Alaska’s heart stops, smirk falling off of her face in an instant. “Needles?” she repeats faintly, even though Sharon had been perfectly clear. “You’re Needles? I thought–”

“I was a man?” Sharon says archly, annoyance flickering across her face. “You’re not the first.”

“Your poster,” Alaska says slowly, feeling incredibly stupid. The stablehand? Really? “It was hanging at the train station.”

Sharon sighs, eyes rolling up to the sky. “Stupid,” she mutters, seemingly to herself, and then, louder: “I’ll never rob an artist again. Those bastards have no fucking money and an eye for detail.”

“I don’t know, that chin is pretty memorable,” Alaska says before she can think about it, and there’s a second of frozen shock before Sharon starts to laugh.

“I like you,” Sharon says approvingly. “You’ve got balls.”

Alaska really, really shouldn’t be flattered. “Thanks,” she drawls, and she takes a step back. Her sense of danger is heightening, despite Sharon’s calm and her surprising humor. With the stories Alaska had heard, she had pictured bandits to be no-nonsense men with hearts of steel, cold blooded killers and thieves that were too good to be caught. Sharon doesn’t seem to be fitting any of those descriptors.

She should really run, warn her uncle while she still has some time. But some sick part of her is intrigued, attracted to this woman, and she can’t bring herself to shout like she should.

“Why are you here?” she asks again, even though she already knows the answer.

“We have some business with Mr. Solomon ____” Sharon says, and it’s like a curtain’s been drawn over her face. The twinkle in her eyes has turned into something like a spark of anger. “He’s been plotting something, and I intend to nip it in the fucking bud.” She shifts a little, her coat moving to reveal a leather holster at her hip. It feels like the air gets twenty degrees colder.

Alaska feels like she can barely breathe. She takes a step back.

The ‘Solomon isn’t here’ gets caught in her throat, another part of the sentence catching her attention. “‘We’?”

A slow smirk spreads across Sharon’s face. “Oops,” she says. “I’ve always had a hard time keeping secrets.” And quick as a rattlesnake, she draws her pistol and fires it once into the air. Alaska flinches violently at the sound of it, breath coming in strange stutters as adrenaline rushes through her. A responding gunshot sounds somewhere in the distance, along with growing shouts.

Alaska runs.

She flies up the hill, Sharon’s laugh chasing her like some sort of nightmare, whoops and hollers echoing off of the valley walls from all directions. She’s halfway to the house when a horse suddenly shoots past her, and she trips over her skirt in shock, falling to her hands and knees with a painful jolt. She looks up to see Sharon riding it, heading somewhere to the left of the house.

It’s stupid to feel betrayed. She’d talked to Sharon for less than ten minutes, and Sharon hadn’t even tried to hide who she was. Hell, Alaska had given her the only lie she told.

It’s stupid, and Alaska shoves the feeling aside. There are more important things to be worrying about.

She scrambles to her feet and keeps running, ignoring the temptation to flee the other way.

She bursts into the house, turning and slamming the door shut behind her, locking it. She turns to see her uncle, Cassidy, and the other men all emerging from the office, guns drawn and looking hunted.

“Alaska?” her uncle says, frowning. “Did you see something out there?”

“No,” she lies, because she can’t tell him that she was too fucking entranced by Sharon Needles to do anything. “But I heard something.”

“We all fucking heard something,” one of the men snaps, referring to the sound of pounding hooves, and distant shouts surrounding the house.

“Jesus Christ,” Cassidy says, pointing his gun alternately between the windows and the door. He sounds accusatory, like he blames her uncle for what’s going down, and Alaska finds herself half agreeing.

She shouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t - her uncle shouldn’t have invited her here when he was at risk. It was - it was wrong. Anger boils up within her, and it feels better than fear, so she grabs onto it. “What were you guys even doing?” she cries.

Her uncle looks at her, wide eyed. He looks guilty, but Alaska is far past forgiveness, not when gunshots can be heard just outside the house. “I’m sorry, Alaska,” he says, brow furrowed. “I didn’t think it would get this out of hand.”

“You had wanted criminals over for dinner,” Alaska snaps. “How can you - how - ?” She’s tripping over her words, just like she always does when she’s upset, and it’s only making her angrier.

Her uncle grimaces, but before he can respond a sudden pounding on the door has everyone falling into a tense silence. The hoofbeats have stopped - it’s completely silent. They all point their guns at the door.

“Open up, motherfuckers!” a voice shouts.

Someone shoots the lock off, and the door slowly swings open. They all wait with baited breath. Cassidy steps forward, lining his gun up. Alaska takes several steps back, nearly going into the office, breathing so hard she feels like she’s going to be sick.

There are two beats of silence.

Her uncle frowns, gun lowering a little in his confusion. “Wh–”

Two deafening shots echo from the windows on either side of them, shattering the glass, and two of the five men drop dead. Alaska can’t help the scream she lets out, flinching wildly.

“Fuck!” Cassidy shouts, making an aborted attempt to go towards one of the bodies before remembering that he still needs to be on his guard. “Jesus shit!”

The door is kicked open suddenly, making Alaska jump. The woman that stands in the doorway is tall, with sharp features and an amused smirk. Alaska recognizes her from the other poster that had been beside Sharon’s, the unusual name catching her attention more than Sharon’s.

Detox.

“Where’s Solomon?” Detox says, pointing right back at Cassidy.

He doesn’t answer, and she takes another step forward. “I said–”

“He’s not here.” Sharon steps out from behind Detox, gun drawn and smug smirk still firmly in place. “He’s smarter than that.”

“Surprising,” Detox says, and Sharon snorts. She hasn’t bothered to raise her gun, and Alaska wants to scream at her uncle or the other man to do something.

“He wouldn’t be the annoyance that he is if he wasn’t.” Sharon says before pointing her gun at Alaska’s uncle almost lazily, like it had been an afterthought. It makes Alaska’s blood boil, both at Sharon’s arrogance and her uncle for feeding into it by being an idiot.

Sharon glances at the right window and jerks her head.

A shot rings out, and Cassidy’s last man drops nearly instantaneously with a cry of pain, and Alaska jumps again, unable to keep herself from squeaking, a little. It’s a harsh reminder of the steel trap that Sharon has them in, and Alaska hates that she needed her memory jogged.

Two women slide into the house through the windows, one hispanic and a little heavier, and the other white and stick thin, face covered in freckles. They both wear their hair in two braids, honey blonde and brown respectively, and they both look like they’re having the time of their lives.

“Alright,” Sharon says, using her gun to talk like an extension of her hand. Her blasé tone is disconcerting, and Alaska shrinks further into the office. “You’ve got two choices: tell us where Solomon is, or,” she holds up her gun and shrugs.

Both Cassidy and Alaska’s uncle remain silent, Cassidy staring Sharon in the face and her uncle twisting around to look at Alaska.

She wills him to turn back around, to stop drawing attention to her already mediocre hiding spot, but he starts to mouth something instead, nodding his head towards the office. After two times, she understands: burn it.

“What are you doing?” the woman with brown braids asks, voice harsher that Alaska would have guessed.

Sharon looks at her for the first time since she’s entered the house. Alaska feels frozen under her stare.

“Alaska!” her uncle snaps, and it works: she snaps out of it, adrenaline flooding her body and moving as quickly as she possibly can.

She steps back into the office and slams the door shut behind her, locking it with shaking hands. Terrifying shouts and bangs immediately start as soon as the lock slides into place, but they’re muffled, and Alaska knows she has limited time to do what her uncle needs before they find a way in.

She turns to the desk, eyes moving from place to place without direction before finally landing on the map lying across the desk, ink marks scattered all over it. She rushes to the desk to pick it up, and after a moment of examining it, she knows that what her uncle needs her to do is destroy it.

It’s a map detailing the location of a camp, presumably Solomon’s, and possible escape routes and alternate locations. If Sharon got her hands on this, the camp would be completely fucked. She would win whatever rivalry is going on between the two gangs with ease, and Solomon and her uncle would have no chance.

Alaska reaches for the lantern to burn the map in, but she hesitates. Would it be terrible if they got the map? It would end the rivalry, and it isn’t like her uncle isn’t already in as much danger as he could be in. He isn’t living in this camp, and Alaska couldn’t give a fuck about Solomon or Cassidy.

But does she want Sharon to win?

She stares at it, doing her best to memorize the map and the twisting ink paths. Keeping the map whole isn’t an option, but she thinks - she needs to have some leverage, here. If something should happen to her, who she wants to win regardless, she needs to have something that makes her useful.

She isn’t nearly as familiar with it as she’d like to be when a thud suddenly rattles the door to the office, making her jump nearly ten feet in the air. The door thuds again, the hinges rattling, and Alaska starts folding the map so that it can fit into the lantern, shoving it into the flame just as the door flies open and strong hands grab her from behind.

Alaska screams, kicking and trying to hit her assailant with her elbows.

“Jesus Christ,” someone hisses, and Alaska thinks she recognizes the voice as Detox’s. She flings her elbow back again, newly desperate, only to have it caught by one of Detox’s hands. Detox grabs her other arm as well, and Alaska’s arms are soon twisted around her back in such a way that she can’t move them no matter how hard she tries.

It’s utterly terrifying, and Alaska can’t help but let out a little sob as Detox forces her out of the office and into the parlor, where the brunette woman with the twin braids has Cassidy on his knees. Her uncle is nowhere to be seen.

“Where is–” she starts, voice growing into a shout, but Sharon cuts her off, her own tone surprisingly heated.

“Bastard got away,” she says, scowling. “I’m not sure how, considering how many of us there are, but he’s fucking gone.”

“Thank God,” Alaska says, relieved. She ignores the feeling of being abandoned. One of them had to get away, had to be able to get the law. It just happened to be him. “Thank fucking God.”

Sharon’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s no way a lady should speak,” she says, and the blonde woman snickers. Alaska glares at her.

“I’m not exactly going to give you the respect of polite society,” she snarls. “Now let me go!” She jerks fruitlessly at Detox’s grip, and Sharon laughs, coming closer. Alaska wants to hurt her, wants to make her feel as scared and angry as she is right now.

“We can’t let you go,” Sharon says, fake pouting. “Sorry. But your uncle had you do something in that office, and with him gone, you’re our only shot at finding out just what it was.”

Alaska falls silent, unable to think of a comeback that won’t put her at risk in one way or another. She needs to know something to prove herself too valuable to kill. But because she knows something, she’s going to be taken away. She’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, and Sharon is both Charbydis and Scylla.

Alaska settles for glaring at Sharon, who only grins back. Alaska does not think about how the gap in her teeth still makes her stomach flutter.

Sharon turns away, smile fading in favor of a more serious look. She looks at the brunette woman. “Morgan, shoot Cassidy. We need to leave.”

“What?” Cassidy splutters, eyes wide. Alaska is surprised to see him reduced to such a mess. “I don’t–”

“Shut up,” Sharon sneers, walking over to and kicking him in the stomach. He curls in on himself, wheezing, and Alaska winces in sympathy. “We don’t need to hear your side of the story. I’ve already heard three different girls’, and frankly, I’m exhausted.”

Morgan suddenly pistol whips Cassidy across the face, and he drops like a brick, groaning. She spits on him.

“Make it quick, Morgan,” Sharon says sharply. “The law’s already crawling up my ass as it is, and Thunder’s gonna return with the entire fucking Union.”

“No problem,” Morgan says, and she shoots him twice.

They’re not kind shots - one in the knee and the other in his stomach. The scream he lets out raises the hair on Alaska’s arms, and she feels a terror like she’s never known before. She thinks briefly about jerking away and running, but she feels rooted to the spot, staring down at Cassidy’s writhing body. Not like she’d actually escape Detox, anyway.

Another shot makes her jump, and Cassidy falls limp. “I said make it quick,” Sharon says, tucking her gun back into her belt. Alaska hadn’t even seen her move.

“I missed,” Morgan shrugs, but she doesn’t sound apologetic about it.

“Sure,” Sharon says doubtfully, but there’s a strange affection in her tone that undermines any reprimand. Her gaze suddenly lands on Alaska, and she’s back to smirking. “Excuse her,” she says. “She hasn’t been out in a while.”

“Rude,” Morgan snorts. She tucks her two pistols into their holsters, spinning them as she does.

“We need to go,” Detox says. Alaska tries not to cringe away from the voice close to her ear. She wants to retain at least some dignity.

“You’re right,” Sharon says. “Sorry. Got distracted.” She winks at Alaska, and Alaska’s stomach squirms with hatred and an unwilling attraction. She blames her childhood fanaticism.

They exit the house quickly, swinging up onto their horses, Morgan and the other woman speeding away immediately. Detox and Alaska still remain on foot, Alaska’s arms beginning to go numb with how far they’re strained behind her.

“Detox,” Sharon calls from on top of an enormous black Friesian. “She can go with me.”

“What? Why?” Alaska asks harshly as Detox leads her over.

“A little bonding never hurt anyone,” Sharon answers, smirking. Detox swings Alaska up behind her with an alarming ease, and Alaska balances herself, nearly falling off immediately.

Sharon looks at the house and then at Detox, and as Alaska is debating the pros and cons of sliding off the horse and running, she says something that makes Alaska’s blood run cold.

“Burn it.”

“No,” Alaska breathes. But something in her can’t wait to see it in flames.

Sharon eggs her horse into a gallop just as the flames catch onto one of the windowsills, and Alaska stares at the house until she can’t anymore, the orange of the flames burned into the backs of her eyelids.

Loss and relief shouldn’t be felt so soon after one another.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have acted fearless and independent and I never will regret my course. I would rather be politically buried that to be hypocritically immortalized.” — Davy Crockett

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to Thorpe for betaing! This fic wouldn't be where it is without her.

They ride for what could be minutes or hours in silence, Alaska never taking her eyes off of the horizon even long after the orange blaze surrounding her uncle’s mansion is gone. She barely registers the blessedly cool wind against her face, or how hard she’s gripping the horse’s saddle, deep in thought and very confused.

She’s not scared.

She knows she will be, once she has the time to really comprehend what happened, but for now all she can feel is guilt. Guilt, because her reaction to her uncle's house burning, after the initial horror, was relief. How could she? Her uncle’s livelihood is gone, her  _ uncle  _ is gone and likely in danger, she’s been  _ kidnapped _ \- likely in order to be tortured for information - and all she can fucking think about is that she doesn’t have to find a husband anymore.

Sharon flicks the reins, and her horse suddenly jerks into a higher speed, forcing Alaska to grab onto Sharon’s waist  in fear of falling off and breaking her neck. Sharon cackles at her, and Alaska flushes, embarrassed and suddenly feeling heated. It makes her angry.

Anger feels a hell of a lot better than guilt, and she gives into it without hesitation.

“Fuck you,” she snarls, right into Sharon’s ear. 

“Sorry, what was that?” Sharon shouts, voice nearly whipped away by the wind. “‘Thank you?’”

It is entirely plausible, maybe even likely, that Sharon hadn’t heard her. But the presumption - the fucking  _ nerve-- _

_ You can’t hear me? _ Alaska thinks viciously, glaring at the sharp angles of Sharon’s cheekbones.  _ How about now? _

She sucks in a deep breath, and she screams straight into Sharon’s ear.

It’s childish, but Alaska has never been afraid of being childish, especially when it gives her such great results.

Sharon jumps, cringing away violently, jerking the reigns and making her horse jerk along with them. For a second, Alaska allows herself to hope that they would slow enough for her to safely jump off of the horse, but Sharon corrects him too quickly for her to even have a second of the time she’d need.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Sharon snaps, her tone a startling contrast to the gentle way she pats the horse’s neck. “What the fuck?”

“Can you hear me now?” Alaska asks, sneering. She relishes in the anger on Sharon’s face, gratified by her ability to take the other woman down a peg, but it fades away too quickly for her liking. Instead, Sharon’s pressed lips turn into a smirk, and she doesn’t even grant Alaska a glance when she says,

“Surprised you didn’t do that back at the house - the lawmen might have heard you in time to help.”

Alaska looks at Sharon incredulously. “Town is three miles from -- oh,  _ fuck  _ you!” she grits out, the realization dawning with Sharon’s laughter.

“Don’t you mean thank you?” Sharon shoots back, and Alaska desperately wants to hit her, rage nearly overwhelming her.

“Why - how would I  _ ever  _ thank you?” she snarls. The apathy in Sharon’s expression only makes her blood boil more. She tears her eyes away from the other woman, instead staring stubbornly out at the Rockies. She can feel tears welling up in her eyes, and she curses them. She needs to be strong for this. “You - you  _ kidnapped  _ me, you burned my home, you  _ killed- _ ”

“Your  _ home _ ?” Sharon says sharply. 

“Does it matter?” Alaska spits.

“Yes,” Sharon says bluntly. “That wasn’t your fucking home. Don’t accuse me of that. That was the last place you wanted to be - I could see it in your eyes. You were at the stable for a reason.”

Alaska flushes at the reminder of their first meeting, suddenly aware of the way their bodies are pressed together - the way Sharon’s waist feels firm under her arms. She almost pulls away, but her sense of balance forces her to remain attached.

As if reading her mind, Sharon places a hand on Alaska’s wrist, which rests against her ribcage. “Got a good grip?” she says lowly, and Alaska jerks her wrist away, cheeks burning. Sharon laughs, letting go easily, and Alaska replaces her arm with less reluctance than she should have felt.

“I loved it there,” Alaska says petulantly. Sharon ignores her point, hand returning to the reins.

“I saw something else in your eyes as well,” Sharon continues softly, and her tone sparks an uncomfortable squirming in Alaska’s belly, the places she’s touching Sharon too warm. “You want something more.”

“Don’t presume to know what I want,” Alaska says, voice shakier than she would like it to be. She feels seen; exposed. 

“You want more than a man, but a man is all a woman’s good for in society,” Sharon says, and a new bitterness colors her normally gleeful laugh. Alaska frowns at it.

“A man is what I need,” Alaska tells her, trying to work her anger back up and failing. She’s falling into Sharon’s intrigue again, fascinated by the mystery of her. 

“Not out here,” Sharon says, and her voice is softer than Alaska’s ever heard it. It startles her; frightens her, even.

“I’m not like you,” she says quickly. She resents how close they are.

“Oh,” Sharon says idly. Alaska can just see the edge of her brow quirked up from the angle she’s at. “You’re wrong. I’d say stop lying to me, but I think you’d have to stop lying to yourself first.”

Alaska lapses into silence, unsure of how to respond. She feels raw and vulnerable in a way she didn’t expect to feel in the presence of a bandit.

Sharon doesn’t scare her the way Alaska thinks she should, and she hates her for it.

They spend the rest of the ride in silence.

🌼

Alaska uses the silence to plan her escape, and by the time they start slowing down, sliding off of Sharon’s horse - “Cerrone”, she’d heard Sharon call him - and running immediately upon arrival is out of the question.

They’re over four hours away from Coady, at least half an hour more from the house, and she has no idea where she is. They hadn’t passed any signs, or at least Alaska hadn’t seen them in the dark, and they’ve been weaving through thick pine trees for longer than Alaska could keep track. 

She suspects Sharon had avoided roads, or at least stuck to those less traveled, and the fact that she has no real way of knowing is terrifying.

She’d end up lost in the woods if she took off on foot, and probably dead because of it.

The only other option would be escaping on horseback, and that takes a little more forethought than leaping off of Cerrone and running as fast as she can. She needs the time to figure it out, but she doesn’t know if she’ll get it.

Stories of the tortures people go through when kidnapped by bandits crowd her thoughts, the tales concerning women even worse, and she’s just beginning to work herself up back into a panic when Sharon speaks suddenly, snapping Alaska out of her spiral.

“Welcome,” she says, voice warmer than Alaska expects it to be, “to Silverbar Overlook.”

They round a curve in the dirt path to reveal a small camp of about six tents and wagons, a decent fire lit up in the center of it. Women fill the space with talk and hoots of loud laughter, and Alaska can’t help but stare at them as Sharon pulls Cerrone to a stop by some crooked posts. Where are the men?

Sharon swings down with ease, taking Cerrone’s reins and tying him to one of the posts. She smirks at Alaska as she does so, making no attempt to prevent her from running right then and there. Alaska hates that she doesn’t need to.

“Like it?” Sharon says, dusting off her hands. Alaska sneers at her, fear and fury a fire in her stomach.

“No,” she says shortly.

Sharon seems unaffected. “Time makes the heart grow fonder,” she says, holding out a hand for Alaska to take, “and you’ll certainly be spending a lot of it right here.”

Alaska resists the urge to slap the hand away, remembering just in time that Sharon has a gun and the quickest draw she’s ever seen. Instead, she ignores it in favor of sliding down herself, relieved when she lands solidly on both feet. 

Sharon grabs her arm none too gently as soon as she’s on the ground, even her arrogance not so hubristic to leave Alaska with both arms free. Even so, she gives Alaska an appreciative glance. 

Alaska flushes under her gaze, keeping her eyes stubbornly ahead.

“Went to the stables often?” Sharon questions, and Alaska presses her lips together at the insinuation.

“Fuck off,” she says sharply, and Sharon laughs.

“Jinkx Monsoon!” she calls, not bothering to respond to Alaska. An old affection colors her tone, and a red-headed woman by the fire stands up, grinning. 

“Fresh meat?” she asks, approaching them. She’s pale, with sad eyes and a crooked smile. Her hair is down, tangled like Alaska’s gets if she leaves it down for more than two seconds, and she sports loose pants that bunch up where they meet her boots. 

“Not quite,” Sharon says, jerking Alaska a little to emphasize her point. “More of a hostage.”

Jinkx frowns, clearly taken aback. “Hostage?” she asks, examining Alaska closely, squinting in the dim light cast over them from the fire. Alaska glares back, meeting her gaze as defiantly as she can muster. Jinkx raises an eyebrow in response. “She’s in with Solomon? She’s in a brand new dress.”

“I am  _ not  _ with him,” Alaska snaps, disturbed at the very idea. “I  _ hate _ him.”

“Enough to give us the information you have?” Sharon leads, and Alaska presses her lips together.

As much as she hates Solomon, she hates Sharon that much more.

Both of Jinkx’s eyebrows are up, now. “Want me to tie her to the post?” she asks, and Alaska’s stomach drops somewhere around her ankles. Jinkx jerks her head back to a post at the edge of the clearing, where a pile of ropes and a poker in a bucket of water sit. Alaska freezes up at the sight.

“No,” Sharon says, but her eyes don’t leave the post for another moment longer.

“So she is a new recruit,” Jinkx says, and the suggestion sparks the fear in Alaska’s chest into anger.

“I’d rather be tied to the post than a new recruit,” she spits out, and Sharon’s grip tightens around her bicep. She stills, heart pounding.

“No,” Sharon clarifies, ignoring Alaska. Her silent warning is frightening enough, and Alaska has no desire to see how it might escalate. “I don’t tie civilians to the post.”

“She needs to sleep somewhere,” Jinkx says. “And I’m pretty sure you don’t want her unguarded.”

There’s a brief pause. “She’ll have to sleep in a tent,” Sharon says, and Alaska just barely keeps a protest from escaping her lips. Jinkx voices one, anyway.

“In a tent?” Jinkx asks incredulously. “Where people sleep? Where they’re most vulnerable?”

Sharon snaps her fingers, seemingly ignoring Jinkx. “Detox and Roxxxy,” she says.

Jinkx gives her a skeptical look. 

“Alaska isn’t a threat,” Sharon says, and Alaska nearly jumps at the sound of her name. She hates the false intimacy that the use creates, and she never wants to hear it said again. Her skin crawls at the idea of Sharon knowing enough about her to use her Christian name. “Detox could break her in half if she wanted to.”

Alaska very much does not want to sleep in Detox and Roxxxy’s tent.

“Why not the post?” Jinkx asks again. She looks worried, and it’s clearly getting on Sharon’s nerves.

“Because I created this camp, and I said so,” she says, an edge creeping in on her tone. 

Jinkx is unmoved. 

“ _ Jinkxie, _ ” Sharon says, and Alaska glances at her for an expression, unable to read her tone. She seems urgent, pleading, maybe, but it’s hard to decipher.

No matter the expression, however, a silent exchange clearly occurs between the two, and Jinkx’s expression softens. She looks at Alaska, who sneers.

“I’ll take her to their tent,” Jinkx says after a moment. She looks back at Sharon. “Willam wants to see you. Something about a letter?”

“Shit,” Sharon swears, and she lets go of Alaska’s arm. Alaska nearly takes off immediately, but she stops herself, eyes catching on the gun slung at Jinkx’s hip and thoughts returning to Sharon’s own. She’d have to be patient, even though she’s never been good at it.

“I completely forgot about that,” Sharon continues, although it sounds like it’s more to herself than the other two. She looks somewhere to their right, and Alaska follows her gaze, spotting a young blonde woman in a low cut dress giving Sharon the finger, leaning against the post of one of the tents. Sharon looks back at Alaska, lips pressed together, and Alaska quirks an eyebrow.

“See something you like?” Alaska says, and Sharon’s eyebrows raise. She pointedly glances at Alaska’s arm, where she had been holding her.

“I do,” she says, and Alaska flushes. She grits her teeth, frustrated with the way Sharon can render her speechless. Sharon’s smug smirk isn’t helping matters.

“Alright, take her to Detox and Roxxxy. Make sure they know what’s going on,” a thoughtful look at Alaska, “and make sure they know they need to be on watch.”

Alaska tries and fails not to be flattered that she warrants a watch, even though it makes her plans for escape that much more difficult.

“Got it,” Jinkx says, and with a nod - Sharon leaves, heading towards who must be Willam with a sheepish grin on her face. The expression would be endearing, if she hadn’t just kidnapped Alaska after destroying her uncle’s life.

“So,” Jinkx says, smiling startlingly sweetly at Alaska. Alaska doesn’t quite know what to do with the sudden change of pace. “What do you think of the camp?”

Alaska gives her a deadpan stare. “It’s dirty,” she drawls, feeling more confident with Sharon’s absence. She feels above this woman, with her short stature and sweet smile, and it’s easy to let that leak into her tone. “Small.”

Jinkx’s smile shrinks, fading into something that screams ‘unimpressed’. “You’d think a wealthy woman would have better manners,” she says, and Alaska blushes a little. 

“Ladies don’t initiate,” she says, willing the blush to go down. “They reciprocate.”

Jinkx is quiet for a moment, expression sympathetic. “Jesus. I’m glad I’m away from that.”

Alaska falls silent, something like shame turning over in her gut. She’s thought the same thing before, but only in her fantasies, and not for a long time. The reminder of her own lack of freedom, compared to these women’s abundance of it, is startling - it’s something that she hasn’t thought about in years. The disparity is embarrassing, and for a moment, Alaska wonders what right she has to feel superior to these women. What is money when compared to freedom?

She tries to scrape the idea away from her mind, reminding herself that the law is powerful, that it isn’t freedom when you’re being chased, but the thought sticks like glue.

“Come on,” Jinkx says after a few moments, frowning at Alaska. “It’s just over here.”

Alaska follows her quietly, still a little shaken, and Jinkx looks back at her with a strange expression on her face. “Alright,” she says. “Maybe Sharon has a reason for treating you special.”

“You mean she doesn’t do this often?” Alaska asks. Jinkx laughs, a soft sound that fits strangely on someone deemed a criminal. They come to a stop in front of a tent, but Alaska hardly notices, she’s so wrapped up in the conversation.

“Let’s just say, she must like you. Sharon’s had no trouble tying people to that post, even in the middle of winter.”

“No,” Alaska says, rejecting the idea with a vehemence that surprises even her. “She’s trying to entice the information out of me, and it isn’t going to work.”

“The day Sharon Needles chooses enticement over violence is the day pigs fly,” a new voice says, and Alaska immediately tenses up, phantom aches blossoming along her arms where they’d been held back.

Detox emerges from her tent, an amused quirk to her mouth, and the blonde woman who’d slid in through the window during the ambush comes out after her. This must be Roxxxy, but Alaska is far more concerned with Detox.

“Guess you’d better get your binoculars ready,” Jinkx says dryly. “Because they’ll be taking to the skies any second now.”

Detox looks at her, confused. “What?”

Jinkx lets out an exasperated breath, placing a hand on Alaska’s back in a reassuring manner. It doesn’t work, and Alaska shrugs it off as quickly as she can. “She’s sleeping in your tent tonight. Please don’t ask me why.”

Detox looks even more bewildered, but she doesn’t protest, which Alaska supposes is a good thing. Or maybe not - maybe she could have ended up in someone else’s tent if Detox had thrown a fit, someone with warmer eyes. That, or someone much worse. 

Most things, Alaska is realizing, are going to be a game of roulette. She’s just going to have to roll with the punches, because gambling has never been her strong suit, and now is certainly not the time to be practicing.

“Alright,” Detox says slowly, and Jinkx relaxes into a smile.

“Thank you,” she says, eyes darting to Roxxxy, “for not being difficult.”

The expression on Roxxxy’s face suggests she spoke too soon. 

“Why not the post?” she asks, clearly annoyed. 

“I don’t know,” Jinkx says, and Alaska can hear the suppressed frustration and exhaustion in her voice. “Sharon doesn’t like to share, and despite popular belief, I can’t actually read her mind.”

“Try,” Roxxxy shoots back. “You know her better than anyone else here.” She makes no attempt to hide the bitterness underlying the words. Detox shoots her a look, but Roxxxy appears not to notice.

Alaska finds herself wanting Jinkx to come back just as quickly, to put up a fight, but the slump of Jinkx’s shoulders tells her that she’d rather avoid it. “Maybe she wants to try enticement and see if it works better.”

“Sharon’s never needed to cajole anything out of anyone.”

“Jesus,” Alaska blurts out, frustrated and defensive. “Maybe she just isn’t up for beating the shit out of anyone today. It must be exhausting work.”

All three women stare at her, and she shrinks down, suddenly afraid. Years in society have taught her to only speak when spoken to, and while she’s always chafed under that rule, the potential consequence for breaking it has never been quite so high. She shouldn’t be snapping at bandits like this - especially in the company of three, all with loaded pistols. 

Detox’s delayed scream of a laugh makes her jump three feet into the air.

“Jesus Christ!” she says, and the other two women crack smiles as well. “She’s got nerve for a hostage!”

“A hostage sleeping like she’s one of us,” Roxxxy corrects, a tinge of the argument still there, despite the smile on her face.

“She’s sleeping here,” Jinkx says. She’s looking at Alaska thoughtfully, something twinkling in her eyes, and Alaska relaxes despite it. She’s still in the clear, somehow. “But just so you know, Ms. Needles usually waits a few days before really going in on ‘em.”

“She’s patient,” Detox agrees. It’s lighthearted, but Alaska still spares a glance at the post, eyes lingering on the poker stick. Clearly, Sharon’s patience runs out. She doesn’t know if the fact that she’s patient at all is really that comforting.

“I’m tired and I’m going to bed,” Jinkx says. “Sharon wants you two to take turns watching her.” Detox nods. Jinkx turns to leave, giving Alaska a reassuring smile. “Have fun,” she says, ominous, and she starts off towards Sharon and Willam, who can be seen just inside of the tent Willam had been waiting in.

Alaska is sorry to watch her leave, not quite understanding the comfort she’d provided until she was gone.

“I think you should lie between us,” Detox says, glancing at Roxxxy, who only looks slightly less sullen from her argument with Jinkx. “Makes watching you easier.”

Alaska nods, heart sinking at the idea. She feels like all of her confidence left with Jinkx, and her plan to escape feels impossible to execute. With each of them taking watch, and having to sneak out from between them, it seems improbable that she can leave the tent without detection. And if she was caught - she knows how strong Detox is, and Roxxxy certainly hasn’t proved herself to be friendly.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Roxxxy says, ducking into the tent. Detox motions for Alaska to follow, and she does, after a moment of hesitation. “I’m not tired yet.”

As Alaska lays down, she steels herself. She has to make an attempt, all of the risks be damned. She owes it to her uncle.

She owes it to herself.

🌸

Roxxxy falls asleep two hours after they all lie down, and it’s like the universe is telling Alaska to get the hell out of there.

It’s been a struggle not to do the same herself - it has to be around three in the morning by now, give or take a few, and she is  _ exhausted. _

She takes a moment to just stare at the roof of the tent, feeling all of the aches and pains of the night throb. Her first meeting with Sharon feels like it was weeks ago, not hours, and Cassidy’s visit to her uncle even further away. She almost doesn’t want to get up, heart and head heavy with exhaustion.

But she has to.

She understands fully well that this is, truly, her only shot at getting out of this unscathed. By some miracle, Sharon had been foolish enough to leave her loose, taking her lack of physical strength as a sign of weakness, as a sign that she wouldn’t run. But Alaska has always been wily, and she can snake her way out of most things.

Most things were usually balls and formal dinners with suitors, but she’s pretty sure she can get out of being the hostage of bandits just as easily.

Again: she  _ has _ to.

Detox is snoring, so Alaska's watching Roxxxy’s face for any signs of wakefulness as she slowly gets into a crouch, listening for a change in Detox’s breathing. She’s careful not to knock aside Detox’s pistol, which lies in her loosened grip. 

She has no doubts that Detox would be glad to shoot her the moment an excuse was given, and the thought only pumps more adrenaline into her veins. She’s shaky with nerves, and she takes a moment to breathe in and out, eyes on the tent flap not three feet away. She can do this.

Alaska steps daintily over Roxxxy, holding her breath. She freezes once she’s over her, cringing at the light sound her boot makes when it lands. 

She waits. 

She lets out a long breath after ten seconds pass with no movement, and she takes the last step forward, carefully curling her fingers around the canvas of the tent flap. She lifts it painfully slowly, hardly daring to breathe, and the moment there’s enough room, she shoots out of the tent, exhaling harshly as soon as she’s out.

For a moment, she feels a sort of giddy relief. She made it. She snuck past the guards. For a moment, she fancies herself able to escape from federal prison, but one thought of being in a chain gang brings her back down to Earth. 

It’s not like she’ll ever be in a position to escape from federal prison, anyway.

She looks around, looking for the horses and at every single tent, watching for activity. The fire is now just a few glowing embers, so she relies on the Moon to tell her. She doesn’t see anyone, and she allows herself a moment to admonish herself for jumping out of the tent without looking, before she starts towards the horses, which are hitched near the mouth of the path into the camp.

Maybe she’ll even ride away on Cerrone, and take something from Sharon in her escape. Convinced of this plan, her heart starts beating with anticipation, and she’s about halfway to the first of the horses when a voice makes her heart stop in her chest, and the rest of her freezes along with it.

“Going somewhere?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Alaska says, and without thinking, she starts to run towards the horses, all thoughts of Cerrone flying off the table and the first horse she can grab her only destination. 

She barely makes it two steps before Sharon jerks her back by the bustle of her dress, and Alaska realizes just how strong the other woman is. It would be frightening, except she’s more used to Sharon than she has any right to be in this amount of time, and she has just heard a ripping sound.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Alaska hisses, jerking away from Sharon and turning to face her. She backs up a few steps, drinking in Sharon’s surprise. “This dress is  _ pink satin.  _ Do you understand what that means?”

There’s a beat of silence, before Sharon lets out a disbelieving laugh. “I had to stop you somehow,” she says. “The information you have is a little more valuable to me than pink satin.”

“Well, now that you’ve ripped it, sure,” Alaska sniffs, fingering the fabric. “It was my favorite, too.”

“It’s a  _ dress _ ,” Sharon says, exasperated, and something in Alaska snaps.

“It’s the only thing I have  _ left _ !” she cries out, clenching her hands in her skirt, arms stiff at her sides. She feels a strange sense of loss over the dress, even though the skirt is still functional and, in all likelihood - easily mendable. It feels like Sharon’s just ruined the last thing tying her to her home, her life, and it’s maddening. 

“Fine,” Sharon says, voice now quiet. “Fine. But the information is still more important.”

“Two more of these dresses and I guarantee they’d be worth more than Solomon’s entire operation,” Alaska shoots back. “You could have had more if you hadn’t burned the rest.”

“It’s more personal than money,” Sharon says, and Alaska frowns.

“What’s the point of ‘personal’ if there’s no money in it?”

Sharon laughs again. “You are so goddamn  _ suited  _ for this!” she says, and Alaska feels her chest warm at the praise before she shuts it down, confused at the feeling.

“I’m  _ not _ ,” she snaps. “I’m meant for a life worth living.”

“What?” Sharon says dryly. “Like marrying a man you feel nothing for and spending the rest of your life kept somewhere you don’t want to be? You want to die having accomplished nothing other than a couple of kids?”

It’s like she’s been stripped naked, all of her thoughts and feelings seen by someone she doesn’t trust, and it makes anger well up inside her like a balloon. “Don’t act like you know what my life is like,” Alaska snarls. “Don’t act like--”

“Alaska,” Sharon says, and Alaska deflates.

“Of course I don’t want that,” she admits, and it’s simultaneously a relief and an effort. Baring herself to a criminal is hard, but letting her feelings out into the open is so incredibly freeing. It’s addictive, and she finds herself sharing more, nearly tripping over her words in her haste to get them out. “I’ve never wanted that. But it’s necessary. My father - he needs me. His newspaper is struggling. We need  _ money. _ ”

“And marriage is the only way to get it,” Sharon finishes, and Alaska stares at her, fighting back the lump of tears that has lodged itself in her throat.

“He needs me to do this,” Alaska says, Sharon’s sympathy giving her hope of release, but Sharon’s expression hardens.

“He can get himself out of his own mess.”

“I’m his daughter.”

“Being a daughter has nothing to do with it,” Sharon sneers, and Alaska stiffens defensively.

“Being a daughter has  _ plenty  _ to do with it,” she snaps. “I have  _ duties  _ I need to uphold. I don’t have a  _ choice. _ ”

“Don’t you see?” Sharon says, eyes earnest. It’s attractive, and despite herself, Alaska finds herself listening rapturously to the passion in her voice. “You don’t need to do anything.  _ This _ is a choice.” She spreads her arms at the camp, at herself. “Be here, with us. We don’t - society hates us. Society favors white men, and the rest of us are just there to make life better for them. We can be who we want out here. You don’t have to marry a man you don’t want to. You don’t have to be with a _ man  _ at all _. _ ”

Alaska hesitates, allowing herself a second to imagine a world without responsibilities, without rules or eyes that watch her every move. It’s a dream.

It doesn’t exist.

Sharon is lying. To make it seem like an easy option isn’t  _ fair  _ \- to be ‘free’ comes with a cost, and Alaska isn’t willing to pay it. Not when it involves taking money, taking  _ lives. _

“Fuck you,” Alaska says venomously, and she spits on the ground. “You’re full of shit, and you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

Clearly, this is the wrong thing to say.

“I’m sure I will,” Sharon says coldly, expression suddenly closed off. The reaction knocks Alaska off balance - she had expected another smart comment, somewhere on the edge of playfulness, but Sharon had clearly taken Alaska’s words to heart. Alaska knows she should be glad that her words have finally had an effect, but all she can feel is guilt. It’s not something she wants to be feeling, but her emotions have never bothered to listen to her.

“I’m sure I will,” Sharon says again, drawing herself up to her full height. She’s still shorter than Alaska by a good few inches, but she still manages to look intimidating, with her long black coat and mean expression. “But I think you should take a turn first.”

“What?” Alaska asks, and then suddenly Sharon has both of her arms twisted behind her back in an iron grip, frog marching her clear to the other side of camp. Alaska stumbles with the forcefulness of it, startled into silence up until she catches sight of the post, a coil of rope waiting innocuously beside it.

“Fuck,” she says, trying and failing to struggle out of Sharon’s grip as they reach their destination. Sharon slams her against the pole, pulling her arms to the other side of it, but Alaska can’t help but notice that it’s not nearly as violent as she’s sure Sharon is capable of. “Sharon--”

“You want to be the unwilling hostage?” Sharon asks, tone heated. “Here you go. Now you can tell everyone how evil we were, and you won’t even have to lie about it.” She finishes tying Alaska’s hands with the rope, tightening it aggressively. She rounds the post to look Alaska in the face, lips pressed tightly together. Alaska glares back.

“Thanks,” she drawls, giving her wrists an experimental tug. “I won’t even have to fake the rope burns.”

Sharon’s expression falters, looking vaguely concerned, before the wall goes up again. Alaska wants to poke at it, intrigued, but Sharon suddenly leans forward, resting her hand against the post just above Alaska’s shoulder. It puts their faces far too close together, and Alaska’s heart starts beating a little faster. 

Sharon doesn’t hesitate to look Alaska straight in the eyes, and Alaska glares back, refusing to back down. 

“Give me the information, and I’ll let you go,” Sharon says, and Alaska keeps her mouth stubbornly shut, staring definitely into Sharon’s eyes. She does not think about how blue they look in the moonlight.

Sharon presses her lips together in annoyance. “Have a nice night,” she says coolly, turning to walk away and disappearing into the tent nearest the post.

Alaska sinks down into a sitting position, all of the tension in her body leaving along with Sharon. She gives the ropes one more tug before sighing, defeated. At least it’s a pleasant night, she thinks, staring up at the stars.

She feels her face crumple, exhaustion and fear catching up to her all at once, and she lets out a sob before stopping herself from crying any more, concerned that Sharon might hear her. She has to toughen up if she wants to get through this. Crying isn’t going to help her.

She needs a plan. She can’t outsmart Sharon, and that means she can’t escape. She’s going to have to give them the information she has at some point, before things escalate more than they have. Sharon has proven herself to be somewhat volatile, and capable of treating Alaska as less than a civilian, despite her previous reluctance. Alaska doesn’t want to push her into treating her as an enemy.

The thing is, if she gives away her information, she gives away her only protection. She doesn’t trust the welcoming hand Sharon had extended her before - she doesn’t even know if it’s still extended. The situation feels hopeless.

She’s going to have to think of something, though. 

The thought is an exhausting one, and she decides that she’ll think of it in the morning, after a few hours of rest. She doubts anything she comes up with in this state will be viable, anyway.

She wills herself into an uneasy, much needed sleep, the pole hard against her back, and the mud soaking into her skirts. She tries not to mind - the dress is already ruined. It’s better than sleeping next to Detox and Roxxxy, at any rate.

She never thought she’d long for her uncle’s mansion, but there’s a first time for everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! I thought I might share the playlist I made for inspiration, as a treat:
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/wiqnltzfq13efapbkgipcqtbd/playlist/6xuTbkNvtHC6By0k4D66gP?si=esyYfTbbSQGVvKo31M01xw
> 
> follow me on tumblr @narcoleptic-drag-queen !


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I was happy in the midst of dangers and inconveniences.” – Daniel Boone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, thank you to frey for betaing. <3 and thank you to everyone who's commented! you have no idea how motivating they are.

Alaska wakes up to a bucket of water being thrown into her face.

She jolts into consciousness with a gasp, shaking with shock and the cold of the water. She attempts to open her eyes in her haste, but she immediately has to squeeze them shut against the rivulets of water streaming down her face.

“Morning!” Sharon sounds cheerful, a smile clear in her voice. Alaska  _ hates  _ her.

“Fuck you,” she croaks out, throat dry. She’s starting to feel a bit like a broken record, but she’s never been a morning person and Sharon’s wit is hard to keep up with five seconds after waking up.

“Maybe later,” Sharon says, but the response sounds almost automatic. “We’ve got something for you.”

Alaska frowns skeptically. “I’m sure.”

Sharon sighs, and Alaska wants to look at her so badly.

She forces herself to blink her eyes open, now that the water is done running down her face, and takes in the scene, a few droplets clinging to her eyelashes.

Sharon is crouched down next to her, holding a mug of water. A tin plate of eggs and beans sits next to her on an overturned bucket. Alaska’s mouth waters at the sight. 

“See?” Sharon asks, raising an eyebrow. “Something. Start talking.”

“You’re denying me food and water to get information,” Alaska asks flatly, disbelieving. 

“At least until they’re completely necessary,” Sharon says, shrugging. “We can’t have you die on us too soon.”

Alaska’s mouth feels drier just looking at the water, and she has to swallow several times to speak without coughing. Her stomach growls. It’s only a mild hunger - she hasn’t actually missed a meal yet - but it makes her realize that she’s  _ never  _ missed a meal in her life. She doesn’t know how well she’ll stand against this, and she doesn’t want to be reduced to begging. Her pride won’t let her, not when she knows she can come up with a better proposal.

She just needs to  _ think. _

“It won’t work,” she tries, but Sharon just smiles wryly.

“I’ve done this more times than you own dresses,” Sharon says, standing up. “I know what I’m doing.”

The reference is a deliberate dig at her dramatics the previous night, and it hurts a little. “So at least two times,” Alaska drawls, determined to seem unaffected. “I’m impressed.”

Sharon snorts. “Please. I’m sure you have more dresses back wherever you came from,” she says. “Get up.”

Alaska glares up at her from the ground. “I’m a little tired,” she says coldly. “I think I’ll pass.”

Sharon presses her lips together, and Alaska deems herself successful in getting under the other woman’s skin. She gives Sharon the most saccharine smile she can muster. Sharon is unamused.

“Fine,” Sharon says. “I can always come back tomorrow.”

“Thank god.”

It clearly isn’t the response Sharon had wanted, judging by the flicker in her otherwise impassive expression. “I can do this for a long time.”

Alaska raises an eyebrow. “But you can’t, can you?”

Sharon’s eyebrows creep up to her hairline. “I’m sorry?” She grabs Alaska by the arm and pulls, forcing her to stand up. Her arms prickle painfully at the movement, having fallen asleep due to their position behind her. “You know something I don’t?”

“Well, obviously,” Alaska says, and Sharon scowls.

“Do you have a point, or is this just you being a brat?” she snaps, and Alaska meets her gaze as confidently as she can, despite quite literally shaking in her boots. She is the one in control of the situation - the one with the information, and thus can decide where the conversation is going to go - but Sharon is still terrifying. She’s gotten too used to the other woman’s amused attitude - her anger is something else entirely.

“They know you’re onto them,” Alaska says, voice miraculously steady. “You know that. They’re trying to leave, and pretty soon even the escape routes I know will be useless.”

“The last thing you want to be is useless,” Sharon tells her, anger seeming to cool down a little with Alaska’s clarification.

“And the last thing  _ you  _ want is to be knocked back to square one,” Alaska says, thinking fast. She has somewhat of an idea, and she can only pray that Sharon thinks it’s just as good as she does. “I think I have a way to avoid both.”

Sharon steps back, crossing her arms. “Alright,” she says slowly, suspicious. “You’re smart. Tell me.”

“If I tell you what I know,” Alaska says, even as her stomach turns at the thought of betraying her uncle. She tells herself that she betrayed him the minute she memorized the map he’d wanted her to burn - this was going to happen eventually, somehow, some way, and that’s why she’d done it. The damage is already done. “If I tell you what I know, I want to stay here until Solomon is no longer a threat.”

“You want us to protect you?” Sharon asks, surprised. 

“If I tell you, I’m on your side,” Alaska says, heart pounding with what she is about to do - what she is about to  _ commit _ to. “I’ll be a target for Solomon, and I’d rather be here than back home as a sitting duck.” 

“Deal,” Sharon says without hesitation. “This is absolutely a fucking deal. But - you’re sure you don’t want to go back?”

“You burned it down, remember?” Alaska says, knowing that Sharon meant New York. She just can’t - she can’t face her father right now. She doesn’t know if she can take his false concern, only to be presented to different men every night like some prize dog just days later.

Living with bandits seems more bearable than that.

Sharon gives her a look, but she lets it drop, the deal seemingly making her merciful. “Just know - we can’t let you leave until it’s all over, not when you can give to Solomon what you’re giving to us.”

“Understood,” Alaska says, and Sharon’s face breaks into a smile.

“Then we have ourselves a deal,” she says, eyes roaming all over Alaska’s face with something like appreciation in her eyes. Alaska wills her blush to go down.

“Something on my face?” she asks, calling back to their first meeting, when Sharon had been the one to catch her staring. Instead of blushing and spluttering out an excuse, however, Sharon just tilts her head.

“Actually,” she says, leaning forwards, “there is.” And suddenly, her hand is on Alaska’s face.

Alaska flinches sharply, startled, but Sharon pays her no heed, gently wiping Alaska’s damp cheek with her thumb. Her hand is gone as quickly as it came, but her touch still lingers, warm against Alaska’s chilled skin. Alaska holds her breath throughout the entire affair, only daring to relax when Sharon steps back, seemingly unaware of the effect she’s having.

She raises her hand for Alaska to see, a piece of grass pinched between her thumb and forefinger. “Piece of hay,” she says, flicking it to the ground, and Alaska exhales harshly.

“How-?” she asks, racking her brain for when that could have appeared. She’s a little embarrassed, feeling disheveled and unseemly because of it. It’s ridiculous, considering who Sharon is, and the fact that her hair and dress are already beyond hope, but something about Sharon’s touch had rattled her.

“We used the horses’ water bucket to wake you up,” Sharon says, eyes twinkling mischievously. Alaska recoils, all memory of Sharon’s touch vanishing in favor of complete disgust.

“ _ What _ ?”

“It was the closest one,” Sharon says, and Alaska narrows her eyes at her, suddenly very aware that her dress is completely soaked with the now warm water.

“The horses are on the opposite side of camp!” she snaps, and Sharon laughs. “Ugh!”

“You can take a bath as soon as you tell me everything,” Sharon says, almost teasingly. 

“In what?”

“There’s a creek just off the path.”

“That’s not much better.”

“Well, it’s what you’ll be drinking. Better get used to it.”

“Can’t I at least eat first?”

“I’m not untying you before we can be sure you won’t be difficult,” Sharon says, “and I’m pretty sure you don’t want to be spoon fed, despite the silver one you were born with in your mouth.” 

Alaska rolls her eyes at the jab, and Sharon laughs again, before her smile fades into something more serious, although her eyes still hold their perpetual amusement. She smirks a little with her next words: “Now. Spill.”

🌸

“Jesus,” Jinkx says as Alaska and Sharon duck into the main tent, which is really just a piece of canvas strung out over a wooden platform. “What did you do to her?”

“It’s called interrogation,” Sharon says, and Alaska tightens her lips. Her skirts are still wet, having barely dried in the time it took for her to tell Sharon everything and eat the breakfast she’d brough for her, and she’s found a few more pieces of hay on her chest and in her hair. She isn’t in the mood to forgive.

“It’s called being cruel,” Alaska shoots back, plucking another piece of grass off of her corset. Her back is beginning to tire from being in it for so long, but she’s been successful in ignoring it so far. She just needs to keep it off her mind. She flicks the grass at Sharon, pulling the corners of her mouth down to show her disgust. “Unnecessarily so.”

Sharon rolls her eyes, and Jinkx frowns at her. 

“And she’s untied because….” Jinkx leads, although she doesn’t seem very alarmed. She leans against the table to the right, a piece of paper in her hands. It looks like a letter, but she puts it to the side before Alaska can get a good look at it.

Alaska looks at Sharon for her response, but she instead goes straight to a rickety desk opposite Jinkx, opening one of the peeling drawers and rustling through it. After a few moments of silence, Alaska looks at Jinkx. 

“We’ve come to an agreement,” Alaska says, still a little unsure of her place and surprised that Sharon seems to expect her to fill in Jinkx. She’s staying in the camp for protection, but she’s still unclear on how welcome she is in doing so. Being treated as one of them seems strange, and besides, she isn’t sure she  _ wants  _ to be treated as one of them. “My information for your protection.”

“ _ Our _ information, now,” Sharon says, pulling a blank sheet of paper out of the second drawer down. She puts it on the desktop, pulling a fountain pen from its stand and holding it out to Alaska. “You can draw a map, right?”

“I can,” Alaska says, a little dryly. “But I already told you everything.”

“A map can’t hurt,” Sharon says, a piece of hair falling into her face, freed from her hat upon entry into the tent. Alaska pretends that her desire to tuck it behind her ear is one born of tidiness and nothing more.

She takes the pen from Sharon after a moment, moving to sit down at the desk. As she bends down, her bun tilts on her head painfully, and after a few tries to correct it she decides to take it down and redo it.

She pulls out the pins, allowing her hair to fall down her back. She runs her fingers through it, wincing as her fingers catch on the tangles. 

“You should keep it like that,” Sharon says, just as Alaska begins to gather her hair back up into a bun. “It suits you.”

Alaska looks at her, a smart comment on the tip of her tongue, but it vanishes at the expression on Sharon’s face. It’s thoughtful, warm, the look in her eyes suddenly intense. Her breath catches, face growing warm.

“It tangles,” she manages, quickly looking back down at the map.

“Look at Jinkx’s!” Sharon argues. “She doesn’t care, and it doesn’t even look good.”

“You’re one to talk,” Jinkx snorts, and Alaska bites back her immediate objection.

“Yeah, because it’s tangled,” she shoots back instead, cheeks still flushed. She looks back at Sharon to find the expression gone, but instead of relief, her stomach dips in disappointment. “Half up,” she finds herself saying, just to get that expression back again. She’d seen it before, on the men her father had brought through the house, but it had never brought the flush of pleasure that all of Alaska’s friends had giggled about. To see Sharon look at her like that is rewarding, and it’s so pleasantly surprising that Alaska lets herself feel it without repercussion.

A small smirk tugs at the corner of Sharon’s mouth, her gaze warm. “Perfect,” she says, and Alaska finds herself smiling back, her chest growing warm with the praise.

“Are we drawing a map?” Jinkx says suddenly, jerking Alaska back into reality. “Or are we doing Alaska’s hair?”

“Can’t it be both?” Sharon says, pouting a little, but Alaska feels too flustered to brush it off, quickly looking back down at the desk.

She’s disgusted with herself, for her enamour with Sharon and letting her feelings get the best of her. She can’t - Sharon isn’t an option. She  _ cannot  _ be, for more reasons than one.

She stares hard at the blank sheet of paper, berating herself and battling the lump of tears that has suddenly sprung up in her throat. She rolls her lips between her teeth, trying to bring herself out of the spiral and back into the present, but ironically, the thing that does it is Sharon herself.

“Alaska?” she says gently, and Alaska jumps at the hand that suddenly touches her shoulder.

“I’m fine,” she grits out, jerking her shoulder away from Sharon’s touch. “Just let me focus.”

“Alright,” Sharon says after a moment. “Alright. We’ll be quiet.”

Her response takes Alaska aback, and she nearly looks back at Sharon in her surprise, stopping herself just in time. Again, she wonders what her place here is, if the gang leader herself falls silent at Alaska’s command? She shakes her head at the thought, immediately dismissing it as dramatics. But still. It isn’t quite that drastic, but the fact that Sharon respects her enough to listen is enough to ponder over.

Maybe it’s all in an effort to get the best information possible, even if that reasoning doesn’t fit very well.

As Alaska makes the first line on the paper, she wonders if Sharon sees it as a deal being carried out, or a member just doing her job.

🌸

Almost immediately after Sharon gets the map, she leaves Alaska alone with Jinkx, moving quickly across camp to ‘get this shit started as soon as possible’.

It’s clear why Alaska isn’t in Sharon’s tent with Detox and Willam - her loyalties fresh and wildly self serving - but the fact that Jinkx is the one standing next to her and not someone else is strange, considering how close she and Sharon seem to be. 

“Come on,” Jinkx says, her lethargic tone making it clear that she doesn’t share Alaska’s confusion. “I’ll give you a tour of the place.”

Alaska nods, curious to see the other bandits and eager to see the entire camp with fresh eyes, ones not blurred by panic and darkness. She follows Jinkx to the entrance of camp, Jinkx speaking cheerfully.

“We’ll start with the horses - but I suppose you already know where they are.” Jinkx laughs a little, still sounding sleepy and relaxed despite the gravity of what Alaska had tried to do just hours before.

Alaska fights back a blush, even though she really shouldn’t be surprised that Sharon told Jinkx about the previous night, or that Jinkx would tease her about it. The thought just makes Jinkx’s exclusion that much more odd. “So,” Alaska drawls, falling into step besides Jinkx as they reach the horses. “Why are you showing me what I already know, instead of planning over the information you don’t?”

Jinkx looks confused for a moment before her eyes light up in realization. “Well, I betrayed one of our girls to the law a couple years back for money,” she says calmly, patting a chocolate stallion’s neck almost absentmindedly. “Sharon forgave me, but I haven’t had her trust since.”

Alaska stares at her, slack jawed. 

Jinkx holds her stare for a few moments, Alaska’s shock and horror growing with every second, before she suddenly breaks into laughter, making Alaska jump. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” she says, and Alaska has to take a moment to process what she’s saying before she’s frowning at the other woman, exaggerated to show her good humor.

“I’m sorry,” Jinkx says, taking deep breaths to calm herself down. She smiles at Alaska good naturedly. “You just looked so suspicious, I couldn’t resist.”

“But I think there’s still some truth to it,” Alaska says, smiling back despite herself. “I don’t think I can trust you after that.”

Jinkx rolls her eyes. “Like you were going to trust me from the start,” she points out, and Alaska shrugs.

“If I had to choose someone to trust,” she says, “it would be you. You’re probably the most trustworthy one in this camp.”

Jinkx sighs, grin fading into something smaller, teeth hidden behind her lips. “That probably has something to do with why I’m not with Sharon right now.”

Alaska quirks an eyebrow in a silent request for Jinkx to continue, and Jinkx smirks a little, turning to stroke the stallion’s nose as he turns his head towards her.

“I love this life,” Jinkx says. “I love Sharon and these girls to death. I really think I would die anywhere else from pure heartache and misery. But I’m not suited for it. I  _ did  _ mess up a mission a while back - I’m the reason Detox even  _ has  _ a wanted poster. I offered to leave out of guilt,” Jinkx’s voice wavers just slightly, “but Sharon begged me to stay. Don’t get me wrong - I’m not here without doing anything. I just tend to stick to the domestic side.”

“How did you mess it up?” Alaska asks, enthralled, and Jinkx gives the stallion a final pat before turning to Alaska, smiling slyly.

“Let’s just say I can’t aim for shit and I ain’t got the stomach for shooting guns anyway,” she says. “Now, let’s go see where we keep the food.” And with that, she starts towards the wagon closest to the entrance, leaving Alaska no choice but to follow.

Alaska wants desperately to probe more, painfully curious about what happened and why Sharon had forgiven her, but it’s clear Jinkx doesn’t want to share. If Alaska had to guess, she still feels guilty, and Alaska is the last person she’d want to confide in about that.

She barely pays attention to Jinkx’s presentation on their food supply - “Canned beans: a real delicacy!” - as lost in her thoughts as she is, which is why she jumps three feet into the air when a heavily accented voice suddenly chimes in.

“Jinkx! Tri-- who is she?”

The question is blunt, and Alaska can’t help but feel like it’s a rude way to ask. She turns to face a woman with sharp cheekbones, wild blonde hair, and sparkling eyes. Alaska raises an eyebrow at the bright red lipstick she’s wearing. “I could ask the same question,” she says dryly, but instead of the glare she’s expecting, she gets a wheezing laugh and an insane grin.

“I  _ am _ an odd one, no?” the woman says. If Alaska had to guess, she would suppose the woman’s accent to be Eastern European, although it’s unlike anything she’s heard.

“This is Katya,” Jinkx says, voice warm. “She’s our doctor and, yes, a bit of an odd duck. Katya, this is Alaska, she--”

“Alaska!” Katya cries, throwing her hands in the air. “So this is our hostage!”

“Actually, we cut a deal,” Jinkx says, looking at Alaska as she says it. “She’s under our protection until Solomon’s no longer a threat.”

Katya’s eyebrows raise, her expression dimming a little, but not completely. “So we know where they are,” she says, and then she snorts. “I guess I’ll start stocking up on supplies - we have the money, right?”

Jinkx laughs, although there’s something like concern in her brow. “I’m sure Sharon will get it somehow,” she says. “Whether she’s smart enough to get it  _ before  _ getting herself hurt is the real question.”

Katya wheezes again, waving her hands with glee. Alaska reluctantly finds herself charmed by such openness.

“Where are you from, if you don’t mind my asking?” she asks, wondering if she even needs to be polite with this group. Katya’s eyes light up.

“Russia!” she says. “ Родина! I miss her like I miss my own mother. Which is not at all.”

“So you left to get away from her?” Alaska asks, amused despite herself. 

“And to be a doctor,” Katya says eagerly. “I thought I could make a career out in the American west, and I ended up getting picked up by Sharon. Which speaks for my skills, I’m sure.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a positive or a negative,” Alaska laughs, and Jinkx snorts.

“Definitely a negative,” she says. “Sharon just likes picking up strays, and she’s gotten good at coming up with excuses to keep them.”

“No,” Katya begins, mock-offended. “She keeps people who are skilled, and, dare I say, vital to her operation.”

“Oh, come on,” Jinkx groans. She waves at Alaska. “Alaska is living proof!”

Alaska stiffens, all good humor draining out of her body at the implication that she was just another "stray" for Sharon to keep, that she was  _ anything _ like these criminals. That she’s going to stay longer than completely necessary. “I’d say I’m here for a pretty important reason,” she says, snappier than she intends. “And I doubt Sharon intends to ‘keep’ me.”

Jinkx looks a little surprised. “You’re right,” she says, after a beat. Her expression softens. “I’m sorry.”

Alaska nearly corrects her, a _ ‘No, I’m sorry’ _ on the tip of her tongue, but she bites it back. The thought of apologizing for her anger feels too foreign still - she has the right to be angry. Just because she’s starting to like Jinkx doesn’t mean she isn’t running around with the woman who’d burned her uncle’s house down and taken her away from everything familiar.

Just because the anger isn’t as hot anymore doesn’t mean she can’t still feel it burning.

She looks at Katya, slightly embarrassed at her little outburst, to find the smaller woman frowning at her, although it’s not ill-tempered. For a moment, she fears she’s going to ask more questions and Alaska won’t be able to reign her temper in, but instead she grants them all a small mercy by changing the subject.

“Anyway,” she says airily, poking fun at the tense atmosphere. “I came here for your services.” She looks at Jinkx as she says this, who immediately breaks out into a smile.

“Something to do with the letter in your hand?” she asks, tone teasing.

Katya blushes slightly. “I can’t write very well,” she says. “Not in English, and--”

“It needs to be perfect for a certain someone?” Jinkx finishes, and Katya’s smile is small and soft, a stark contrast to her usual blinding grin.

“I was thinking, I could speak it out for you, and you write what I say.”

Jinkx looks hesitant. “My handwriting isn’t great, but if no one else is willing...” She trails off, looking at Alaska thoughtfully. “You had a proper education, right?”

Alaska raises an eyebrow. “My handwriting is good, yes.”

“Could you?”

Alaska takes a moment to think, before shrugging and nodding. She’d done something similar for her friends back home, and she doesn’t see any harm in doing it for Katya. 

Katya grins. “Excellent. Thank you - follow me!”

They trail after Katya to a covered wagon, filled with crates, a few loose rolls of bandages lingering in the crevices between boxes. A tarp is stretched out from the roof of it over two bedrolls and a crate serving as a counter, again filled with medical supplies. A few framed pictures litter a smaller crate next to the large one, along with a pen and some papers.

“So,” Alaska says, leaning against the wagon as Jinkx flops herself down onto one of the bedrolls, yawning. “Tell me all about him.”

“Who?” Katya asks, heading over to the desk.

“The guy who’s getting the letter I’m going to slave over,” Alaska says, teasing. “I think I deserve to know at least a little.”

“Oh! No, no,” Katya laughs. “Her name is Trixie, and she’s the prettiest woman I have ever laid eyes on.”

Alaska feels the shock like a punch to her gut, and she just barely manages to school her expression into betraying nothing. She shouldn’t be surprised - these are criminals, outlaws. It makes sense for them to engage in crimes other than violent ones. She shouldn’t be surprised that - that--

“Do you want to read it?” Katya asks, oblivious to the turmoil churning in Alaska’s gut. “She has the loveliest writing. Though yours is wonderful too, I’m sure.”

“Thanks,” Alaska says vaguely, taking the letter without thinking. She looks down at it, reading the first lines.

_ Dearest Katya, _

_ I suppose this is the place where I tell you all about the man who pissed himself yesterday because he was too drunk to find his way to the outhouse, or about the woman who dragged her husband out by his ear (only thirty seconds after he walked in, too - frankly, I’m impressed), but right now all I can think about is how much I miss talking to you. You don’t have a wife to drag you out of the saloon. At least, I’m pretty sure. I miss the way-- _

Alaska tears her gaze away, heart pounding. This is too much, too intimate--

“I’m sorry,” she says, straightening abruptly. “I have to go.”

Katya frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Alaska says again, and sparing a glance at Jinkx, who’s fallen asleep, she walks away as quickly as she can.

The letter was sweet. Romantic, touching, whatever. It doesn’t matter because it is  _ wrong.  _

She can’t stop thinking of Sharon.

It doesn’t make sense. She hates the woman -  _ hates  _ her. But her face seems to be burned into the backs of Alaska’s eyelids, her strange expression from earlier haunting every word of that letter.

Alaska heads into the woods without thinking, following a little dirt path downhill to a small stream trickling through the trees. She sits down by it, removing her socks and shoes and sticking her feet in, sighing at the blessed cool.

Maybe she doesn’t hate Sharon. Maybe she hates the way Sharon makes her feel, the strange thrall she seems to have over Alaska even despite the burning anger she can still conjure up when she thinks of the fire her uncle’s house had made. 

These feelings aren’t new - she’s felt them before, despite the countless men that had evoked nothing more than a tinge of affection. She’d felt them for the girl at the fabric shop, with her curly dark hair and playful smile. She’d felt them for her best friend Courtney, before they’d faded in favor of a suitor’s older sister.

She hated herself with each woman, asked herself why she couldn’t just make life easier and love men. She’d accepted it after a small affair with the older sister, something about knowing people like her existed knocking the self-hatred out of her, but things hadn’t improved in the slightest.

She accepted that she would be miserable for the rest of her life somewhere around the age of twenty.

Nothing had changed that expectation in four years, until fifteen minutes ago.

With Katya’s unabashedness about sharing her letter, sinful in the eyes of the law, came a sort of permission. As an outlaw, it doesn’t matter what she does. She’s already broken one law - what more is a few?

It sends a fission of hope through Alaska, and no matter how hard she tries to squash it, it won't go away.

These women have the freedom to be who they are, to do what they want. She's known that - but she's always associated it with violence and with anger. She'd thought of it as a relief for the things society creates so deeply within the soul. 

She's never thought of the freedom it gave love.

Despite herself, she allows a brief moment to picture herself staying. No more men. No more pressures. The privilege to have something  _ real  _ like Katya has, something that Alaska had resigned herself to never having.

It’s overwhelmingly tempting.

But something in her still resists, her principles and her pride keeping her from fully falling into the opportunity lying before her.

She reminds herself of what she’d have to do to get this freedom. Reminds herself of what  _ Sharon  _ did just to get her to this point. 

This last thought succeeds in sparking rage within her, and Alaska vows to run as soon as Solomon hits the ground. She will not be this. She will not steal - will not  _ murder  _ \- to serve herself. That’s what makes a criminal, and she refuses to become one.

She’s better than that.

🌸

Jinkx finds her just as the sun starts to set.

Alaska jumps as fingers touch her shoulder, and Jinkx whispers an apology. 

“Katya told me what happened,” she says. “Are you okay?”

Alaska resents the lump of tears that immediately arises at the question, touched by the concern in a place where she feels so alone. She swallows it back. “I’m fine.”

“How long have you been here? Sharon’s pissed.”

“A few hours,” Alaska says, standing. “And she’s the one who told me about this creek.”

“I’ll be sure to remind her,” Jinkx says, smiling a little. “Come on. Alyssa’s got dinner going. Also, we need to get you out of that dress.”

“Thank god,” Alaska says, following Jinkx back up the trail. Her ribs are aching now, along with her back, and she’s pretty sure she’ll have some bruises once she finally gets it off. “I need this corset off  _ now. _ ”

“Demanding, aren’t we?” Jinkx says lightly, and Alaska snorts.

“You should see me back home - I’m a monster.” The thought of home tugs at her heart and whatever makes that lump of tears appear in her throat returns with a vengeance. Despite all its restrictions, she finds she still misses her home.

“I don’t doubt it,” Jinkx says.

They make the rest of the five minute walk in silence, Alaska shaking off the homesickness like she would a small chill. There’s no point in missing home, when she knows she’ll likely end up back there by the end of the summer, when she would have returned even without all of this.

But then why does she feel like she’ll never see it again?

She has no reason to think Sharon won’t uphold her end of the deal, and, despite herself, she trusts the other woman to stay honest with this. She puts it toward the fact that she’s just impatient for it all to be over, and then she drops the train of thought before she can overthink it. Overthinking never got her anything nice.

They emerge from the woods and head straight for the fire flickering in the middle of camp, where a lone figure sits.

As they approach the warmth of the fire, welcome on Alaska’s chilled skin - she hadn’t realized how cold Colorado could get at night, even in the middle of June - the lone figure reveals itself to be Sharon, who stands up as soon as they get close enough to see her face in the fire light.

“Where were you?” she demands, expression more intense than Alaska thinks is necessary. Jinkx hadn’t exaggerated - Sharon is clearly upset with her.

“The stream,” Alaska says, trying not to betray her surprise at Sharon’s less than warm welcome. “You know - the one you told me about?”

Sharon clearly isn’t charmed. “You shouldn’t go there alone,” she says. “I meant that I would take you there.”

“I think I can manage a stream on my own,” Alaska says, bristling. She may not be a gun wielding outlaw, but she isn’t  _ helpless. _

“Do you?” Sharon says, something sharp entering her tone. “Is that why you wanted our protection? So you could manage on your own?”

“Sharon,” Jinkx says, pressing a warm bowl of soup into Alaska’s hands. Alaska’s stomach growls at the smell - she hadn’t even realized how hungry she was.

“Jinkx,” Sharon says mockingly, and Jinkx rolls her eyes.

“If Solomon is lurking that close to camp, I think you might have some bigger things to worry about,” Alaska says, and Sharon’s eyebrows creep up her forehead. 

“Oh, is Solomon himself all I have to worry about?” she asks, tilting her head. “Guess I’ll save my bullets on the cougars that live around here.”

Cougars. She hadn’t even - she suddenly feels stupid, like she’s started an argument she was only going to lose, and it makes anger flare red hot in her chest. “Guess that saves you a lot of trouble,” she snaps, and Sharon laughs bitterly. When she speaks next, there’s a dangerous edge to her voice.

“Jesus, if that’s the case, I’ll--”

“ _ Sharon, _ ” Jinkx says, and this time, Sharon falls silent, mouth snapping shut. She visibly takes a deep breath through her nose, closing her eyes, frowning.

“Just-” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Just, tell me if you leave camp, alright? Eat your fucking stew.”

Alaska finds herself softening, albeit unwillingly. “Yes, ma’am,” she says, tone light, and she feels a rush of pleasure when the corner of Sharon’s mouth twitches into something like a smirk. She turns away, and Alaska is granted the wherewithal to wipe that pleasure away quickly, cheeks flushing.

“So,” Jinkx says from her place on a log, “how soon should I expect to be worried sick, now that you know where Solomon’s got himself wedged?”

“Not for a while - we’ve still got to come up with a solid plan,” Sharon says, letting out a long breath, hands on her hips. “It’s hard, with all the escape routes they have planned.”

“How long until they use one of them?”

“Not for at least a week - they think I don’t know where they are, so they won’t be in any rush. Preferably, when we attack, it’ll be easier with half their shit packed.”

Jinkx still looks worried. “It’ll be easier if you just don’t attack at all.”

Sharon laughs the suggestion away, sitting down next to Jinkx and giving her a quick hug. “I do love my Jinkxie,” she says, resting her head briefly on Jinkx’s shoulder before pulling away. She glances at Alaska as she does so, and Alaska quickly looks into her bowl of soup - this conversation clearly isn’t for her, no matter how fascinated she is by this new side of Sharon, so she takes the opportunity to eat.

The taste isn’t nearly as good as the smell, especially after her first few bites. The meat is stringy and hard to chew, and the vegetables are mushy. She tries not to gag, her stomach not allowing her to throw away food when she’s already had so little, but she still makes a face. 

She’s most of the way through her bowl when the mention of her name grabs her attention.

“Alaska needs some clothes,” Jinkx is saying, leaning against Sharon’s side. “I can’t imagine what that corset is doing to her.”

“Jesus,” Sharon says, a little surprised. “I haven’t been in one for so long, I--” she cuts herself off, and Alaska wants so badly to hear the rest of the sentence. What does Sharon not want her to hear? “She’s not going to want to wear a corset for a little while, so Willam’s dresses are out.”

“And Alyssa’s will be too big.”

Sharon suddenly looks at her, and Alaska startles a little, feeling a little like she’s just been caught eavesdropping, despite the conversation being about her.

“Stand up,” Sharon orders, and Alaska obeys before she can think better of it. 

Sharon stands with her, eyes running over her body in a way that makes Alaska grow too warm, and she shifts uncomfortably under her gaze. “You’re just so fucking  _ tall, _ ” Sharon bemoans, and Alaska grimaces.

“It’s been a problem,” she admits, and Sharon raises her eyebrows.

“Jesus, I’m sure. Well, I’m the tallest in the camp, so your best bet is with me. You’re finished?” she points at Alaska’s bowl.

“Yes.”

Jinkx yawns, stretching as she stands. “I’m heading to bed. You can handle her on your own?” she asks Sharon, and Sharon smirks.

“I’ve done it before.”

Alaska blushes. “If that’s wh--”

“Follow me!” Sharon interrupts cheerfully, and she’s heading towards her tent before Alaska can recover enough to continue her sentence.

Alaska fumes most of the way there, annoyed with Sharon and reluctant to spend any more time with her, but her anger fades as they near the tent, a small thrill running through her instead, heart pounding.

She’s about to get a glimpse into Sharon’s life - is she messy? Neat? Frugal? Extravagant? Are the walls lined with money? Does she keep some of the jewels the gang steals?

Sharon lifts the flap into the tent, and disappears inside, flap falling shut behind her. Alaska hesitates, unsure if she’s meant to follow.

“Well?” Sharon says, poking her head out. “Are you coming in, or are you planning on changing out here?” She holds the tent flap open for Alaska without waiting for an answer, and Alaska ducks inside, her wariness forgotten in the name of her curiosity.

It’s a tent.

Alaska nearly laughs at herself for building a fantasy in her head and expecting it to be reality, but it’s still disappointing to see two crates pushed together to create a messy table, a small set of old drawers, and a flat bedroll when the expectation was the grandeur of a queen. 

“Now, don’t get too jealous,” Sharon says, shedding her overcoat to reveal a loose white shirt, partially unbuttoned. She tosses it carelessly to the floor, her hat quick to follow. “I came by it honestly.”

Alaska quickly averts her eyes, suddenly feeling warm when before she’d been chilly. A woman’s collarbone isn’t anything she hasn’t seen before, but something feels too intimate in the dim candlelight of Sharon’s tent. 

The fact that it’s  _ Sharon  _ feels too intimate.

“Two jokes in one go,” Alaska drawls, trying to disguise her fluster by examining a compass with deep interest. “I’m impressed.”

“I’m flattered,” Sharon says, digging into the set of drawers. “But I did come by this shit honestly. It’s hardly worth stealing a bunch of empty crates.” She pulls out a white shirt and a long skirt. She tosses them at Alaska, who catches them instinctively.

“Here,” she says, smirking. “As much as I want you in pants, I don’t really see you in them.”

“Thank you,” Alaska says, and she really is grateful. To give up her dress feels like a surrender already, a way of giving in to this lifestyle, but to wear pants would have sealed the deal. Wearing pants is just another way for Sharon to stick it to the law, and Alaska has no desire to do the same.

But as she watches Sharon run a hand through her dark hair, her lips seemingly in a permanent pout when she’s not smirking, breaking the rules is starting to sound better and better.

Alaska jerks herself out of her thoughts, tearing her eyes away from Sharon’s face and shoulders and hips and landing somewhere around her boots. 

“Thank you,” Alaska repeats, because her brain stopped working at some point within the last thirty seconds. “I think I’m ready to change.” She waits for Sharon to leave, to wait outside for her to change, but Sharon doesn’t even shift in that direction.

“Great,” Sharon says, and to Alaska’s horror, she starts coming closer.

“What are you doing?” she snaps out, stepping back. Sharon stops, and when Alaska looks back up at her face, she’s giving her a strange look.

“I figured you needed help with your corset,” she says slowly. “Unless they’ve changed the design sometime in the last six years.” Her tone is dry, teasing, but there’s a hint of uncertainty hidden within that has Alaska’s heart softening, and her curiosity piquing.

Not for the first time, she feels an unbelievable need to know this woman, but she hasn’t got a clue on where to start.

“No,” Alaska says, embarrassed. “They haven’t. Thank you.”

Sharon smirks, and she slips behind Alaska, nearly silent. Alaska shivers.

“Here,” Sharon says, and suddenly her hand is grazing the nape of Alaska’s neck, brushing her hair out of the way. Alaska jumps a little at her touch, goosebumps raising up all over her body. She mouths  _ sorry  _ wordlessly, the air suddenly electric, and she moves her hair so that it lays over her shoulder.

Sharon hums her thanks, and her hand moves to the top button of Alaska’s dress, touch never leaving her skin. Alaska takes a deep breath in through her nose, trying to calm her pounding heart as Sharon unbuttons button after button, fingers painfully slow.

She can feel Sharon’s breath ghost along the skin of her newly exposed back, and she miraculously holds back another shudder.

She feels Sharon tug at the knot at the bottom of her corset a few times, and a huff of frustration soon follows. 

“Who tied this fucking knot?” Sharon whispers, seemingly to herself, but Alaska can’t resist replying, relieved at the break from the tension.

“It’s on purpose,” Alaska says, voice quiet. An owl hoots somewhere in the woods. “My uncle’s maidservant was convinced I was going to sleep with every man that my uncle had over, so she did everything in her power to prevent it.”

Sharon laughs softly, still tugging at the knot. “Doesn’t she know the only thing you need is the strength to lift up a skirt?”

Heat crawls up to Alaska’s cheeks, but she laughs despite herself, the shock of the remark blasting past any sort of reserve she had within her. “Jesus Christ!”

Sharon laughs again, and with one final tug, the knot comes loose. “Thank fuck,” she murmurs, loosening the rest of the ribbon. Alaska can’t help but moan at the relief it gives her, and Sharon’s fingers stutter strangely for a moment.

“You okay back there?” Alaska asks, and Sharon snorts.

“Fine.” She sets a hand on Alaska’s back, making her breath catch. “Done,” she says, and then Alaska feels the heat of her lean closer, next to her ear. “I’ll leave you to it.” Her voice is low, sultry, and it makes Alaska’s stomach dip. “Though I’ll be sorry to miss the show.”

She’s out of the tent far too fast for Alaska to even turn around, and Alaska is left to change alone.

If she unbuttons her corset with more vigor than usual, it’s because she’s pissed. 

No other reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed!! find me on tumblr @narcoleptic-drag-queen and on @artificialqueens as freyja


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I love it. It is wild with adventure.” – Henry Starr describing the bandit life in the Old West shortly before he was shot to death in a gunfight in Arkansas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello hello!!! A new chapter is here! I just wanted to let y'all know that your comments mean the entire world to me, I love them so much and I am so grateful!!! And thank you to Thorpe for betaing, I love you and I adore you. Also, you'll notice the __/10 has turned into an 11... this chapter got out of hand.
> 
> Anyway, I'm kind of proud of pairing this quote w this chapter... it fits in a funny way.

Sharon’s clothes don’t fit quite right.

It’s to be expected - Alaska’s spindly frame doesn’t quite suit the concept of sharing clothes - but she still finds herself desperately smoothing the places where the shirt bunches at her skirt, nearly half of it already tucked into the waist. She steps back to see most of her torso in Sharon’s cracked hand mirror that leans against the middle of the tent frame, and sighs. She’s unused to seeing herself without a corset, and she doesn’t think she likes it. She feels like some pioneer woman, someone who doesn’t know how to dress well, nevermind afford to. The faded pink of the skirt and the cigarette burn on the sleeve of the shirt bother her - no doubt these clothes are old. She stares at herself for a long time in the flickering candlelight. She hardly looks like herself.

She hardly _feels_ like herself.

She wonders, vaguely, at the age of the clothes as she tugs on the too-short sleeves of the shirt fruitlessly. They have to be at least several years old, judging by the old fashioned look of the skirt fabric, and probably from a poorer family. Whoever had owned these had worked the clothes into a wearied thinness.

She realizes, with a jolt, that these probably came from Sharon’s life before becoming an outlaw.

She’d known, logically, that Sharon wasn’t born a bandit. But to see evidence of a former, civilized life… it intrigues her. Rather than help to complete the mystery of Sharon Needles, it only helps add to it.

Alaska runs her fingers over the skirt with a new reverence. What did Sharon do in this? Work a farm? Serve a bar?

Fantasies start to build in her head, and suddenly she’s wondering what had made Sharon turn to a life of crime, or if nothing had happened, if she was predisposed to it, or if–

“I know outlaws are supposed to ride by night, but I _would_ like to sleep while it’s still dark out,” Sharon calls through the tent flap, and Alaska jolts, feeling like she’s just been caught doing something naughty.

“Sorry,” Alaska calls out reflexively, and then immediately regrets it. She has the right to take up a little bit of Sharon’s time, considering the wrench Sharon had thrown into Alaska’s life. She’s tempted to wait an obnoxious fifteen more minutes just to prove it, but she ends up only taking the time needed to roll the sleeves up to hide their awkward length, irritation fading quickly.

She takes one last glance into the mirror, under the spell of some ridiculous urge to look good for Sh– _the camp,_ and unclasps the first button of her shirt before she can talk herself out of it.

Why not take advantage of the lack of society she’s been forced into?

She smooths her shirt once more before ducking out of the tent, spotting Sharon sitting in the grass, a lit cigarette between her lips.

Alaska thinks of the burn on the shirt sleeve, and her heart does a strange flutter at the thought of it pressed against her skin.

“I’m done,” she says impatiently when Sharon doesn’t immediately look at her, eyes pointed up towards the stars. Alaska follows her gaze, and she manages to pick out Orion when the sound of Sharon’s voice brings her back down to Earth.

“Great,” Sharon says sarcastically, her eyes twinkling. “It only took you twenty five years.”

“Really? It felt more like fifty,” Alaska says dryly, and Sharon smirks. She stands, surveying Alaska with something like pride.

“You look good,” she says, taking a draw of her cigarette. “The shirt fits you great.” She looks pointedly at the place where Alaska’s collarbone is on display, and Alaska just barely stops herself from covering it, instead meeting Sharon’s eyes steadily despite the blush in her cheeks.

“It’s a little warm,” she says by way of explanation, despite the very real chill in the air, and Sharon cackles, sounding a little too much like an evil witch on a broomstick.

“I get it,” she says, and Alaska’s gaze wanders down to Sharon’s half open shirt, her usual overcoat still in the tent, before she can control herself. She snaps her gaze back up to Sharon’s face quickly, but Sharon’s smirk tells her that she’s been caught.

They stare at each other for a moment, Sharon’s smirk fading in favor of something softer, Alaska entranced by the glow of the cigarette reflected in Sharon’s eyes. The silence and the familiarity of the stare embolden her to ask the question that has been on the tip of her tongue since the moment she arrived into camp.

“Who were you?” Alaska asks quietly. The wind blows softly. “Before all of this?”

The warmth in Sharon’s gaze flickers away, wariness and distrust shuttering her expression almost instantly.

“Does it matter?“

The message is clear: drop it. But Alaska wants to know, and Alaska is used to getting what she wants.

“Come on,” she says, voice verging on a whine. “The occasion for this skirt isn’t a robbery.”

Sharon doesn’t smile at the tease. “Drop it, Alaska.”

“Why pink? I see black as more your color.”

“I said _drop it,_ ” Sharon says lowly, voice full of barely restrained anger. Alaska feels a spark of irritation at the tone.

“I think I deserve to know at least a little bit about the woman who kidnapped me,” Alaska snaps, dropping her smirk. “At least to be polite.”

“I’m not exactly known for being polite.”

“You know who I am,” Alaska starts, raising her voice. “You know what I come from, you–”

“Anything you’ve told me has been of your own choosing,” Sharon snarls, her cold expression breaking into something sharper. “I have never forced you to share anything but the information that you shouldn’t have had anyway.”

Alaska scowls. “Please, you’ve been trying to nose your way into my life since day fucking one. You didn’t _have_ to force me.”

“You think I actually care about your life as a rich woman in the big city?” Sharon sneers. “You think I want to know how hard it is to find the prettiest dress on the market? You think I want to hear about how _difficult_ it is to figure out exactly how much more money you want to marry into?”

The words sting, and Alaska steps back, surprised. She’s hurt, and tears well up in her eyes along with her anger and her embarrassment. “You have no fucking idea what my life is like,” she says, nearly yelling. “You don’t get to sit there and _speculate_ on how easy my life is compared to what? What did you do? Milk cows?”

Sharon just stares at her, face blank with anger. “I’m sorry,” she says eventually. “From what you said, I thought I knew everything about you.”

“Fuck you,” Alaska says. To her horror, a tear escapes her eye, running down her nose and onto her cheek. She wipes it away angrily, embarrassed.

Sharon deflates, letting out a long breath. “So you’ve said.”

They stand in silence for a long time, the cool air whipping their hair and clothes around. Alaska tries to focus on it, imagining it cooling her anger.

Her temper has always been quick, to her detriment, but it’s also always been quick to cool. Even with Sharon’s words still stinging, she finds it in herself to calm down enough to look at Sharon without immediate irritation, and she counts it as a win.

She can only hope that Sharon doesn’t hold onto anger like her father does.

“Come on,” Sharon sighs. She looks tired, but there doesn’t seem to be much anger left in her. “I’ll take you to your tent.”

Alaska nearly protests that she can find her way back on her own, but she bites her tongue. The air between them is tense, and Alaska knows that one careless remark could start another argument like a lit match to gasoline.

“I’m going hunting tomorrow morning with a couple of the girls,” Sharon says as they walk. “But I should be back before noon. Try to stay with Jinkx.”

“What, the other girls a little too dangerous for me?” Alaska says archly.

“Yes,” Sharon says bluntly, and Alaska feels a small pinch of fear at her serious tone. Alaska must look the way she feels, because Sharon laughs a little when she looks at her. The tension seems to fade almost instantly at the sound, and Alaska allows herself to relax an increment as Sharon opens her mouth to say something else.

“They won’t shoot you - probably. They’ll just be….” she trails off, frowning slightly.

“Mean?” Alaska suggests, and Sharon laughs again.

“Sure!”

They fall into silence again, this time a comfortable one, and Alaska tries to decide how she feels, being left alone at the camp. Despite Sharon’s laughter, she’s paranoid about the women she hasn’t quite met yet. She trusts Jinkx, at least as much as she’s willing to trust anyone here, but she’d seen how Roxxxy had reacted to Jinkx’s authority. What if these other women were worse?

“Take me with you,” Alaska blurts out, panic making her decisions for her. “To hunt.”

Sharon laughs a little, bemused. “Why?”

“I want to learn to shoot.” She says it because she doesn’t want to admit that she’s afraid of the unknown women, but as soon as the words are out of her mouth, she finds herself meaning them. She wants to learn how to defend herself - she wants to take as much control in this new situation as possible.

“Very funny.”

“I’m being serious.”

The smile fades away from Sharon’s face. “Alaska, I’m not giving you a weapon.”

Alaska frowns. “It’s not like I’m going to shoot you.” _Unless I find it necessary._

“It’s not happening,” Sharon says. “You’re under our protection, and that’s enough.”

“I didn’t tell you it was for defense,” Alaska says, as they reach her tent. Sharon smirks.

“If you’re not going to shoot me, there’s only one other option,” she says, turning to walk away. “And that is to shoot Solomon.”

And with that, she’s gone.

🌸

When Alaska wakes up in the morning, Detox and Roxxxy are gone.

Alaska is alarmed for a brief moment, before she remembers the planned hunting trip, and then she relaxes, spreading her arms out and enjoying the sensation of being alone for the first time in two days.

She lies there for some time, enjoying her chance to relax, but the smell of meat cooking and Jinkx’s soft voice carrying through the canvas of the tent has her getting up eventually, her stomach growling.

She fixes her hair the best she can in a small hand mirror she finds, and she tries not to linger too long on the bags under her eyes. She takes a final moment to take a breath, steeling herself for another day amongst outlaws, possible danger, and stress, and walks outside.

Detox and Roxxxy’s tent is probably the closest to the fire pit, so Jinkx and a brunette woman covered in freckles beside her see Alaska almost immediately after she emerges.

“Aw, she’s cute!” the woman says, and she sounds like she’s eaten Texas for breakfast. “Y’all didn’t tell me she was cute!”

Alaska blushes, smiling back at Jinkx when she grins apologetically from beside the woman. “I don’t know why,” Alaska says, sitting on a log and flipping her hair back. “It _is_ my defining feature.”

“Oh, and she’s funny too!” the woman cries, her green eyes wide open with exaggerated shock. “Where’d Sharon pick this one up? New York?”

Alaska hesitates. “Well….”

The woman throws her hands up, nearly knocking over the pan she has on the fire. Jinkx stills her arm, shooting her an exasperated look. “I swear, I’m a psychic or somethin’.”

“You’re not a psychic,” Jinkx laughs. “Alaska just oozes ‘New York’. Alaska, meet Alyssa - Alyssa, Alaska,” she introduces, and Alyssa bows her head in acknowledgement, lips pursed. The expression sparks something in Alaska’s memory, and in another instant, she’s gasping in recognition.

“Not Alyssa _Edwards_?”

Alyssa grins crookedly, clearly pleased at the recognition. “The one and only, baby.”

“You disappeared years ago - I was supposed to see your show two weeks after you vanished. Everyone looked for you for months - you’ve been here the whole time?”

“Some birds weren’t meant to be kept in cages, darlin’,” Alyssa says, and Jinkx shoots her a fond look.

“You were perfectly happy shooting for show,” she says. “It wasn’t until Sharon came and told you there was money in being an outlaw that you finally came with us.”

Alyssa laughs. “You’re right, girl, you’re right,” she says. “I miss it sometimes, but I’d miss y’all more if I went back to it.”

“And you’d have a tough time usurping Coco Montrese,” Jinkx says. Alyssa’s face darkens.

“Don’t you ever say that name to me again,” she says, but Jinkx’s giggles take away any of its intimidation.

“Sorry.”

Alaska sits back, watching the exchange and staring in disbelief. Alyssa Edwards, the most popular show in North America, the sharpest woman shooter in the West, the woman who’d disappeared one night, never to be seen again - is hanging around Sharon Needles and cooking breakfast.

It was enough to make Alaska’s head spin.

Alyssa, being a young woman with deadly aim, had been an obsession of hers at the age of eleven, a result of her fascination with the West and its outlaws. If this had happened to her thirteen years ago, she’s sure she would have fainted with delight.

Now, she’s starting to suspect eleven years old Alaska had poor taste.

“Alaska,” Jinkx says, jerking her out of her reverie. “Why don’t you go take a bath in the stream? This won’t be ready for another half hour, and the rest of the girls aren’t even up yet.”

“Unless you want to ask me any questions, of course,” Alyssa says, and Alaska laughs, standing.

“I need a bath. Desperately,” she says. “But I’ll compile a list for when I’m back. I need to know, though,” she looks at Jinkx, raising her eyebrows, “are cougars a problem?”

Jinkx looks like she’s trying to hold back a smile and is failing miserably. “You’re fine. I probably wouldn’t be able to draw fast enough to shoot one, anyway, and if Alyssa goes I’ll burn breakfast.”

“Glad to know where your priorities are,” Alaska says dryly. “I thought the agreement was to protect me?”

“It’s _fine._ Go take a bath. It’ll do you good.”

“Thanks,” Alaska drawls, but she saunters down the dirt path towards the stream, keeping to her word and compiling a list of questions for Alyssa, some childhood excitement still making her heartbeat quicken.

She feels a little awkward undressing in the middle of the woods, knowing that anyone can see her if they pass, and she gets into the water as quickly as she can.

It feels _amazing._

She sighs at the chill of it, a relief in the hot morning sun, and doesn’t hesitate to duck her head under, loosening the pins in her hair and throwing them in the direction of her clothes crumpled on the shore. Giddy with how amazing the water feels on her bare skin and feeling almost rejuvenated with the cold, she swims around a little, floating on her back and letting the Sun warm her face.

By the time she’s finished, the majority of the dust has floated away from her body, and she’s just beginning to scrub it out of her hair, when the sound of horses galloping past makes her pause.

After a few moments of still silence, she begins scrubbing again, making sure to keep her eyes and ears open. Sure enough, a few minutes pass, and she hears a shout echo down the path from the camp. The intensity and urgency behind it makes her heart drop, and she freezes, listening urgently.

Suddenly, more shouts, loud and distressed, can be heard, the words barely distinguishable, but the emotions clear. Alaska’s just beginning to move out of the water when she hears Sharon’s voice, disturbingly desperate, join the others.

Something within her jumpstarts, and she shoots out of the water, pulling her clothing on as quickly as she can. She decides to forgo her boots and their laces, instead grabbing them and flying up the hill, no plan in mind other than to help somehow, some way.

She runs into the camp to see mass chaos.

Alyssa is running across camp, full skirt hitched up nearly to her waist, with Sharon shouting at her to _“Get Katya, now! Hurry!”_

Roxxxy is echoing her sentiments, sobbing, supporting Detox over her shoulder. Detox’s head lolls against her chest, and a dark, wet patch on her shirt over her ribs glistens gruesomely in the sunlight.

Willam, holding a piece of cloth in her hands, is running from one of the tents towards Jinkx, who stands near Cerrone. Morgan is slumped over the horse’s neck, clearly unconscious, and Jinkx presses her hands desperately against the other woman’s thigh, her hands covered in blood.

Sharon stands in the midst of all of it, shouting orders and face even paler than usual, stark against her dark hair.

“Fuck,” Alaska says helpfully, and she rushes forward.

She goes to support Detox’s other arm, taking some of the weight off of Roxxxy, who looks at her gratefully.

“Alaska, thank _fuck_ ,” Sharon says, placing a hand over her ribs in relief. “Help Katya when she comes– she’s coming now, thank fucking _god._ ”

“What happened?” Katya says, sprinting over with a speed much faster than Alaska would have previously expected, Alyssa close behind. “What’s going on?”

“Morgan’s shot in the leg,” Jinkx says, wrapping the cloth above the wound. “Detox has a bullet between her ribs, so get to her first.”

Katya is at Alaska’s side in an instant, taking Detox’s arm from her. “And _why_ isn’t she on a horse?”

“She insisted she was fine,” Roxxxy says tearfully. “I tried to stop her but–”

“Detox is too willful, I know,” Katya says quickly. “Let’s get her to my tent. _Quickly._ ”

Sharon looks at Morgan, worry clear in her eyes. “Jinkx–”

“I’m following,” Jinkx says, leading Cerrone behind the three women.

Alaska lets out a breath, the situation seeming to calm with Katya’s presence and her expertise. She looks at Sharon, who looks the opposite of okay.

“Are you okay?” Alaska asks tentatively, walking over.

Sharon grimaces. “Peachy,” she says sarcastically, but her voice is strained oddly.

Alaska frowns. “Are you sure you’re–” her eyes catch on Sharon’s hand, still pressed against her ribs, and her heart stops at the wetness of the coat around it, nearly invisible against the dark fabric. “ _Fuck._ ”

“It’s just a graze,” Sharon says quickly, following her gaze. Alaska glares at her, suddenly angry.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ anyone?” she snaps. “Katya was _right there_!”

“Detox was shot in the fucking ribs!” Sharon shoots back. “Morgan was bleeding out. Fuck!”

“We’re going to Katya. Right now.”

“Oh, did you become the boss while I was gone? I can take care of myself.”

Alaska presses her lips together. “Sharon–” But Sharon’s already taking a step towards her tent, and Alaska instinctively grabs her arm to hold her back. It must jostle something, because Sharon suddenly goes weak at the knees, and all Alaska can do is slow her descent.

“ _Ah_ ,” Sharon says, expression twisted with pain. Her hand comes up to cover her wound again, the other supporting her position on the ground.

Alaska doesn’t know what to do, kneeling beside her and placing a hand on her back. “ _Jesus_ , Sharon,” she says, more concerned than she would like to let on. Sharon sucks in a breath through her teeth.

“Get Katya,” she says, and then she faints.

🌸

Alaska waits nervously outside of Sharon’s tent, Jinkx hovering close beside her and unsuccessfully trying to comfort the both of them.

“She said it was just a graze,” Jinkx says, and Alaska raises an eyebrow, irritated.

“She _fainted._ ”

Jinkx looks like she’s about to cry, and Alaska can’t bear to look at it. She instead glues her eyes to the front of the tent, waiting impatiently for Katya to emerge.

She’s sure Sharon is fine.

But what if she isn’t? What if she’s dying? She should be grateful at the thought - she should celebrate. But something like fear shoots through her like a bullet instead, and putting it towards losing her protection doesn’t feel quite right. _No_ , she thinks, bemused. _I just don’t want Sharon to die._

 _It’s called being a good Christian,_ she tells herself, and Katya’s coming out of the tent allows her to get away with the lie without much more thought.

Both Jinkx and Alaska rush forward, and Katya holds up her hands to ward them off, giving a tight smile. She looks exhausted. “It really is just a graze,” she says to Jinkx, and the other woman slumps in relief.

“Really?” Alaska says, her own relief sparking more irritation rather than soothing it. “Just a graze?”

“Sharon _is_ known for being dramatic,” Katya jokes, but her smile fades quickly. “No, she probably fainted more from blood loss and pain than the actual wound. She only needed three stitches.”

“So she’s okay?” Jinkx asks.

“Yes,” Katya laughs. “Don’t you trust me?”

Jinkx finally smiles, although her eyes are still worried. “Yes,” she says. “Of course. Thank you.”

“One other thing,” Katya says, a little more seriously. “Morgan is staying in the medical tent because I don’t want her sleeping in a crowded tent. I’ll be taking her place with Adore and Willam. As for Detox…”

“You don’t want her sleeping in a crowd either,” Jinkx finishes, and Alaska can’t help but feel a little pleased with the news. Even with Roxxxy’s grateful look to her earlier, the pair still frightened her, with Roxxxy’s clear anger and Detox’s strength. To not have to sleep with them would be a blessing.

“Alaska will have to find another place to sleep.”

Jinkx nods, looking thoughtful. Then, suddenly, her eyes widen. “Oh my God, she’s going to have to sleep with Sharon.”

Alaska colors at the phrasing. “What? No,” she says quickly, glancing at the tent. She can see many ways in which this could go wrong. _Very_ many ways. Suddenly, Roxxxy and Detox seem like the best option.

“Why not with you?” Alaska sucks in a breath as the words escape her, belatedly realizing how rude they might seem, especially to Sharon’s best friend.

There’s a horrifying beat of silence.

To her relief and confusion, Jinkx looks at her like she’s trying not to laugh. “You don’t want to sleep with Sharon?”

“No, that’s not what I–”

“I don’t blame you. She’s a nightmare,” Jinkx says, smiling, obviously swallowing her laughter. Alaska still doesn’t see what’s _quite_ so funny, but she lets it go. “But my tent is already too small with only me and Alyssa.”

“Perfect,” Katya interrupts, clearly over the conversation. She looks at Alaska. “You can look after her. Here-” she presses a wet piece of cloth into Alaska’s hands, along with a small bottle of whiskey. “Clean her wound with this. I didn’t have time to properly disinfect it - I need to be with Morgan. She was still bleeding when I came for Sharon.” And with that, she hustles away, leaving a stunned Alaska to look at the supplies in her hands and Jinkx to let out some of the giggles she’d been holding back.

“Sharon’s going to _love_ this,” she says, grinning maniacally at the whiskey. “It’ll teach her to be more careful.”

“She’s reckless?” Alaska asks, examining the whiskey label. She wonders if it was included in Katya’s medical supplies budget, and the thought of using it against open flesh makes her cringe.

“To an irritating extent.”

Alaska takes a step towards Sharon’s tent, heart pounding for seemingly no reason. She’s been alone with Sharon before - she should be fine. She can hold her own.

Her palms are sweaty where they hold the bottle and the rag.

She stops just before entering, turning back towards Jinkx, who raises an eyebrow.

“Hurry along - I’d like to talk to Sharon about something.”

“What happened?” she asks. “Do you know?”

Jinkx’s expression turns solemn, and Alaska is surprised to see a hint of anger flicker across her normally sweet face. “Morgan said they were ambushed,” she says. “She guesses by Solomon’s gang. She can be paranoid, but….”

“He seems the most likely,” Alaska finishes, the news only adding to her nerves. Solomon is a real threat, and an active one. She can only hope that any news about her presence at her uncle’s meeting died with Solomon’s men.

She feels her gut churn at the thought, disgusted with herself, but there’s no point in it. They’re dead, so she might as well acknowledge the benefits.

Jinkx must see something on her face, because her voice is soft when she next speaks. “Take your time with Sharon. I’ll come back later.”

Alaska can’t possibly see how this is a favor to her, as Jinkx’s tone suggests, but she can’t bring herself to ask. She instead forces a smile and a ‘thank you’, and she ducks into the tent before she can come up with another excuse to prolong her entrance.

Sharon looks awake and aware when Alaska first sees her, lying down on her back and looking irritated about it.

“Alaska?” she asks, raising her head slightly and frowning. Alaska hovers at the entrance, feeling awkward in a way she hasn’t ever felt around Sharon. It’s a strange realization.

“I’m here to take care of you,” she says after a moment, and Sharon groans, letting her head flop back against her pillow.

“Great,” she moans. “Now I know who they care about the least. Would have been nicer if they’d just shot me in the head.”

"I’m not going to kill you,” Alaska says, offended, despite just moments ago thinking that it would be beneficial for Sharon to die. Currently, Sharon looks a little too pathetic for her to be thinking those thoughts. “I’m not like _you_. I don’t kill people just because they’re vulnerable.”

“I’m flattered,” Sharon says dryly. “But I feel like you’re purposefully misunderstanding who I am.”

“Don’t care,” Alaska says, moving to kneel beside Sharon and feeling bolder with Sharon’s humor. Had Sharon looked more like an invalid, it would have continued to feel strange - she would have had to be _nice._

Sharon rolls her eyes.

Alaska unscrews the lid of the whiskey, ignoring her. Sharon eyes her warily.

“Please tell me that’s for drinking,” she says, voice bordering on a whine. Alaska is surprised to hear it.

“You know it’s not,” she says. Sharon groans, and she raises her eyebrows, unimpressed. “Don’t tell me you’re a bad patient.”

“You can talk _after_ you’ve had a bullet wound,” Sharon shoots back, and Alaska flattens her lips, unimpressed.

“Katya was right,” she sighs, dampening the rag with the whiskey. “‘Dramatic’ is the perfect word for you.”

“Like you’d be much better.”

“I’m a spoiled, rich girl, remember?” Alaska says lightly, putting the bottle on the ground beside her. “Dramatics are to be expected, if not encouraged.”

Sharon’s face softens a litte. “I’m sorry about that,” she says, and the apology startles Alaska. Apologies were hard for _her_ to admit to - she would have expected it to be worse for an outlaw. “I didn’t mean it.”

Alaska snorts, but she can’t quite get the edge she wants behind it. “Yeah, I’m sure you actually _really_ want to hear about my latest dress.”

Sharon’s lips twitch up in a smirk. “Only if I get to see you in it,” she says, and Alaska flushes at the ‘ _and out’_ that lingers, unsaid.

“Well,” she says, irritated that even injured and on her back Sharon seems to have the conversational upper hand, “right now, I get to see you _out_ of this.” And with that, she tugs up Sharon’s shirt without warning, making Sharon flinch.

“Jesus!” she snaps out, voice tinged with pain, and Alaska’s heart drops with worry.

“Did I hurt you?” she asks, running her fingers over Sharon’s bandages worriedly.

“A little,” Sharon admits, taking deep breaths. “I know it’s already been a few minutes, but I tend to heal slowly.”

“I’m sorry,” Alaska says, stomach twisting with guilt. “I was just trying to–”

“Get back at me?” Sharon suggests, and she grimaces.

“Yes,” she says, taking a moment to look at Sharon’s face instead of her bandages, which are already spotted with red. She’s smirking, and Alaska immediately understands what she meant by ‘get back at’. She’s right, Alaska had tried to twist the conversation into one she controlled, but her guilt still vanishes instantly. “But I’d say you deserved it.”

“The attempt, maybe,” Sharon says. “But not the result.”

“Oh,” Alaska says lightly, finding the knot tying Sharon’s bandages and untying it. “I don’t know about _that_.”

Sharon doesn’t respond, so Alaska begins to peel up her bandages, trying to be as gentle as she can and ignoring Sharon’s winces as she tugs some of them off, the blood acting as some sort of glue. She bites back her urge to apologize. This needs to happen, and Sharon’s already gotten an apology today.

As she removes the last of the bandage, Alaska examines the wound, trying to gauge how bad it is, despite Katya’s reassurances. Doctors undersell things. Her dead mother could tell you that.

It’s about four inches long, stretching diagonally from just under Sharon’s chest to the end of her ribcage, and the fact that Katya has put stitches into it tells her it’s deep. She sucks in a breath through her teeth in sympathy.

“Looks like it hurts,” she says quietly.

“Well, I _was_ shot,” Sharon says, and Alaska raises an eyebrow.

“You’re right,” she says dryly. “Which is why we need to clean it.” She dampens the cloth again, this time with intent, and Sharon puts a hand over her eyes.

“I hate my life,” she groans, but it quickly devolves into a hiss as Alaska touches the alcohol to the edge of the wound.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Alaska tells her, and she tries to rub a little bit of the dried blood away, jumping when Sharon yelps a little.

“Fuck you,” she snaps, and Alaska gives her a look.

“That’s my line.”

“God, you know you’re wealthy when you can own a phrase in the English language,” Sharon says, breathing a little heavily. She’s still smiling, though, the small gap in her teeth just visible. “Especially one so common.”

Alaska wipes a little more blood as punishment, and Sharon makes a pained sound.

“Gently, please,” she says, and Alaska feels a small twinge of guilt at the way her voice wavers. “I might faint on you again.”

“And you think _I’m_ the princess,” Alaska mutters, but when she begins again, she’s as gentle as she can possibly be.

“I wasn’t the one in the pink silk dress,” Sharon says, and Alaska raises her rag threateningly.

“This could be a lot worse,” she warns, and Sharon falls silent, though her mouth is still twisted into a slight smirk. “Thank you,” Alaska says primarily, and she resumes her work.

The process takes a long time, especially with how slowly Alaska has to go in order to be gentle. Sharon stops talking around halfway through, trying her best to muffle her pained noises as Alaska gets closer to the center of the wound. Alaska nearly wants to cry herself, resisting the urge to go faster to end the small sobs Sharon tries and fails to hide.

She’s sweating by the end of it, the evening Sun baking through the tent walls, and she’s breathing almost as hard as Sharon. She lets out a breath of relief, hanging the rag over the whiskey bottle and picking up the bandages.

Sharon opens her eyes as Alaska starts to cover the wound, obviously exhausted. “You’re done?”

Alaska glances at her, trying not to linger on the tear tracks leading down the side of her face to her temple. “Yes.”

Sharon sighs, closing her eyes again. “Thank fucking god,” she mutters. “I could kiss you right now.”

Alaska stills, shocked and hardly daring to breathe. She waits for Sharon to continue, but she never does. “Sharon, wh–”

“Alaska?”

She nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound of a new voice, much louder than she and Sharon had been talking, and whips her head around to find Katya poking her head in. Katya raises her eyebrows.

“Sorry to interrupt your little, uh, _свидание_ ,” she says. “But I need you.”

“I don’t think I want to know what that word means,” Alaska says dryly, glancing back at Sharon. She seems to be out cold, and Alaska can’t help but feel intrigued by her face, strangely peaceful. She’s gotten so used to Sharon’s hard and sharp expressions - has the curve of her brow always been so lovely?

“It’s an appropriate word, I’ll tell you that,” Katya tells her. Alaska quickly looks away from Sharon, blushing to be caught staring. Katya’s eyes are twinkling at her when they meet eyes again, however, and Alaska almost thinks it’s worth it if it means getting rid of the seriousness that sits so strangely on Katya’s sharp features.

“You need me?” Alaska leads, and Katya startles like she’s just remembered something.

“Yes!” she says. “I need your help with Detox.”

“Not Roxxxy?”

“All Roxxxy can do is cry,” Katya says, clearly unimpressed.

“Have some sympathy,” Alaska says, standing up. Katya’s clear distaste strikes a nerve within her, and her next words are a little more heated than she’d intended. “That’s her _friend_.”

“A little more than that, I’d say,” Katya grins, eyes sparkling, and Alaska is suddenly reminded of how they’d parted before.

Strangely enough, Alaska doesn’t feel that same knee jerk fear she’d felt before. Her stomach still twists, although more guilty than fearful. Maybe that fear has faded in the face of Sharon’s wound. But, really, it’s faded in the face of Sharon’s latest proclamation.

_Thank fucking god. I could kiss you right now._

It’s a phrase. A saying. Sharon had been half asleep, drunk with exhaustion. She’s proven herself to be a fan of innuendos, but Alaska would still be surprised if she were that forward. No, it had to have been a joke.

But still. The thought of Sharon kissing her sends a thrill through her body, and she isn’t quite sure she knows how to crush the feeling.

She isn’t quite sure she wants to, and she hates herself for it.

“Wrap her back up,” Katya says, eyes flickering between Alaska and Sharon. Alaska resents the knowing look on her face. “And meet me outside of my tent. Hurry - I’ve got the bleeding down, but we’re in the woods for as long as that bullet is in her.”

Alaska grimaces, nodding, and kneels back down beside Sharon as Katya ducks out. The tent flap closes behind her, and the afternoon sun vanishes, leaving them in the flickering candlelight of Sharon’s lantern. It’s strangely silent, Sharon’s soft breathing and distant voices outside the only noises filling the space.

Alaska’s heart beats quicker at the intimacy, feeling as though she shouldn’t be seeing Sharon so vulnerable, her expression so open. She feels simultaneously like she’s being watched closely and like she’s completely alone, and, with Sharon’s words from earlier still echoing in her ears, she finds herself taking advantage of it. She’s fascinated by Sharon’s face and the way her chest rises and falls slowly with her breaths, the way a strand of hair lies dark against her forehead. Alaska’s eyes trail down her face, her neck, her collarbone, and it’s not until her eyes catch on the bright red of Sharon’s injury that she’s jerked back into herself. A strange wave of tenderness suddenly washes over her, and she picks up the bandages without a second thought.

Sharon doesn’t move as Alaska spreads the salve over her stitches, keeping her fingers light, and she doesn’t even twitch as Alaska tightens the fresh bandages around her torso, tying the ends into a neat bow.

Alaska looks at her face after she finishes, drinking in her heavy, dark eyebrows and equally dark eyelashes, something fluttering in her stomach at this newfound ability to stare openly, to be with Sharon while also being entirely alone. It makes her brave.

Emboldened, she brushes the strand of hair lying across Sharon’s face to the side, hand almost going to cup the other woman’s cheek as she does so, like it was the next natural move. Sharon’s expression flickers for just a moment at the feeling, and Alaska snatches her hand away like she’s just been burned, blushing so fiercely she can feel it in her ears.

She doesn’t think she’s blushed this hard in her life, and Sharon isn’t even awake to tease it out of her. She’d gone along this path all on her own.

The thought makes her stomach dip strangely, and suddenly, she’s furious with herself - furious with _Sharon_. It’s so _tempting_ to be herself here, to be free, but she isn’t staying. She can’t go back once she grants herself the freedom to break the law, and to stay here isn’t an option.

 _Sharon_ _is not an option._

Sharon doesn’t awaken, but still fearful of somehow being caught red handed, Alaska gathers Katya’s supplies as quickly as she can. Nearly dropping the whiskey in her hurry, she practically runs out of the tent, something unpleasant squirming in her gut.

 _Sharon_ _is_ not _an option._

🌸

Surgery is not for the faint of heart, and after about two seconds of helping Katya, Alaska nearly collapses, black creeping in on the edges of her vision.

She’s sent to get Willam after that.

Katya asks her to wait, because she needs to check on Morgan still, and she would like someone to watch Detox while she’s gone, and apparently Willam is liable to wander off if left with any responsibility.

Alaska has been waiting outside of the med tent for over an hour when Willam comes out, her hands covered in blood and a nonchalant expression on her face. The image is a little disconcerting.

“Katya’s ready for you,” she says. “I’d be insulted that she trusts the new girl over me, but honestly I don’t blame her.”

“I’m not the new girl,” Alaska says, though she finds herself faltering in her words. “I’m just here until Solomon is dead and I can go back home.”

“Oh,” Willam says, shrugging. “Sorry.”

Alaska feels guilt twinge a little in her stomach, and she rushes to apologize. “I mean, not that I don’t want to - well, I don’t, but - it’s not that–”

“Alaska,” Willam interrupts, raising her voice only a little. “Alaska, right?”

Alaska nods, frowning a little.

“Listen. I don’t really care whether you stay or not. Just because Sharon likes you, doesn’t mean the rest of us find you interesting.”

Alaska reels back, shocked. “Well, I’m not,” she says. “And Sharon doesn’t - doesn’t _like_ me. It’s just - we made a deal.”

“Don’t care!” Willam sing-songs, turning around and walking away. “Have fun with Detox!”

Alaska flips her off when she’s certain she can’t see her, and then she ducks into the tent only to be greeted by Katya’s blinding grin.

“Oh, Sharon likes you,” she says, bangs plastered to her forehead with sweat. “She doesn’t make deals on the first day of capture for just anyone, you know.”

Alaska ignores her, excusing her blush to herself as one from the heat, and she sits down on the crate next to Detox’s head, across from Katya. “Warm in here?” she asks instead, motioning to Katya’s bangs. Katya lets out a wheezing laugh, running her hands through her hair. When she’s done, her bangs stand up like they’re the points to a crown. Alaska doesn’t bother to hide her smile.

“Just a little,” she says. “I’m sure it was worse for Detox.”

“It _was,_ ” Detox groans, eyes fluttering open, and Alaska startles.

“You’re awake?”

Detox smirks. “I’ve been through this before.”

Katya rolls her eyes, letting out a breath of long suffering as she packs her small medkit. “You see this, да?” She points to a curved scar right below Detox’s belly button. “She got it in a _knife fight_. And she’s been shot before-” she points to two spots on Detox’s right arm. “-here and here. We spend a lot of time together. I hate her.”

Detox lets out a squawk of indignation, grimacing as it jerks her injury. “I hate you too, bitch!”

“I will see you next week, when you tear your stitches,” Katya tells her, grabbing one final needle. “Goodnight.” And then she’s out of the tent, making a beeline towards Morgan’s tent in the early evening light.

“I love that bitch,” Detox sighs after she’s gone, staring up at the tent ceiling. “I really think I’d be dead without her.”

“This kind of thing happens often?” Alaska says, raising an eyebrow. Detox snorts.

“Yeah. Glad you didn’t come?”

Alaska looks at her. “Sharon told you I wanted to come?”

“She did. I thought you didn’t want to be here.”

“I _don’t_ ,” Alaska stresses. “I can’t. I just thought–” she cuts herself off, suddenly embarrassed. Detox frowns.

“Thought what?” she asks, voice slightly softer than before.

“I just thought - I thought I would learn to protect myself,” she says. “I wanted to learn to shoot.”

“Oh, come on,” Detox says, expression disbelieving. “There’s more than that.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Alaska says, defensive.

“We’ve all been where you are!” Detox says. “You can’t tell me you didn’t want to break the rules, at least a little!”

“I didn’t–”

“ _Alaska,”_ Detox says, and Alaska tightens her lips. There’s a long period of silence.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know everything I need to know,” Detox tells her. “I _was_ you. Really, we all were, at some point.”

Alaska stares at her. “What do you mean?”

Detox rolls her eyes, obviously losing patience. “What, did you think we were all born outlaws?”

“No,” Alaska says. “Of course not, I’m not an idiot.”

Detox grants her a look that tells her she disagrees, and she scowls at it. “I’m _not._ ”

There’s a long moment in which Detox just looks at Alaska, her expression slowly softening. “I was pretty rich,” Detox begins. The bluntness of her tone takes Alaska aback. “My father died and the heir, of course, wasn’t me. A cousin of mine inherited everything I could possibly call home, except for my clothes and a few books. I didn’t have anywhere to go.”

“There are places,” Alaska starts, but she falters at Detox’s cold, unimpressed look.

“You mean the places where I would never talk to anyone again? The places where women without husbands or money go to die, alone and unwanted?” she asks harshly, and Alaska doesn’t have a response. A familiar dread makes her stomach cold, the fear of what might happen if she never could bring herself to marry wrapping itself around her again. “Long story short, I met Sharon at a bar. We hit it off. She _saved_ me.”

Alaska frowns at that word: ‘saved’. It seems dramatic, but the more she thinks about the apartments in Brooklyn, or the small houses littering the outskirts of the city, the more it seems to fit. She’d always thought of the people living in those places as ones who’d gambled their money away, or something equally condemnable.

What had Detox done wrong?

“I don’t need saving,” she says quietly, despite the ball of icy dread that still sits in her stomach. Going back home would mean going back to that dread, she’s starting to understand. Being at this camp has been like a vacation from her responsibilities, and suddenly, the idea of going back to them doesn’t seem appealing at all.

Detox looks at her for a long time before she raises an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

The ‘no’ gets stuck in the back of her throat.

“Yes,” Alaska says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me @narcoleptic-drag-queen on tumblr and @artificialqueens as freyja!!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can’t you hurry this up a bit? I hear they eat dinner in Hades at twelve sharp and I don’t aim to be late.” – Black Jack Ketchum, just before he was hanged at Clayton, New Mexico on April 26, 1901.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for your comments!!! i love all of you <3 remember there's a playlist for y'all:
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6xuTbkNvtHC6By0k4D66gP?si=PoH3XXRWRyaC8HU28YS7nw
> 
> Also this chapter is my favorite so far, so you're in for a treat!

Alaska dreams of her hands on Sharon’s skin.

She doesn’t hesitate to brush Sharon’s ribs as she rewraps the bandages, placing a soothing hand on her warm side as she tightens them. She’s lost the fear she’d held before, and now all she can focus on is the way Sharon feels in her hands. She holds power, here, and it’s a nice change of pace to have Sharon be the vulnerable one, to be the protector for once.

She lifts her hand to tie off the bandages, already longing to feel Sharon underneath her hands again, longing to slide her hands further up, or further down. She resists, glancing at Sharon’s closed eyes as she pulls back to stand back up. 

She’s just grabbing the whiskey when a hand suddenly closes around her wrist. 

She startles, gaze snapping down to Sharon’s face to find her wide awake, frowning just slightly. 

“Wait,” she says, voice rough. It makes Alaska’s stomach pitch strangely. “You’re done?”

Alaska puts the whiskey back on the ground, eyes never leaving Sharon’s. “Yes.”

“Thank fucking God,” Sharon says, closing her eyes and relaxing fully. “I could kiss you right now.”

“Why don’t you?” Alaska asks, already leaning forward. “I thought you were a woman who kept her word?”

“I didn’t promise you anything,” Sharon says, a teasing smile on her lips. Alaska stops, face six inches away from Sharon’s.

“You’re right. Guess you don’t owe me,” Alaska sighs, smirking at the frown that suddenly darkens Sharon’s face. “I’ll come back--”

“You’ll stay right here,” Sharon says, opening her eyes. Alaska hums, and she begins to pull away.

The hands looping around the back of her neck stop her from going anywhere, and she allows herself to be pulled down into a kiss with Sharon Needles.

It feels like something shifts into place within her.

Alaska sinks into the kiss, moaning into Sharon’s mouth as the other woman deepens it, pulling Alaska closer. Alaska breaks the kiss to swing her leg over Sharon’s torso, her bandages suddenly gone in favor of smooth, pale skin, and straddles her. Sharon’s hands instinctively go to her waist. 

“It’s nice to be in control for once,” Alaska says, leaning down, voice hushed and a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“ _ I _ kissed  _ you _ , remember?” Sharon says, and then Alaska returns the favor.

Alaska melts into the roughness of the kiss, biting Sharon’s lower lip teasingly and smiling as Sharon groans. Sharon yanks Alaska’s shirt out from where it’s tucked into her skirt, hurriedly sliding her hands up over her ribs and down her sides. The chill of her hands sends goosebumps all over Alaska’s body, and she gasps, burying her fingers into Sharon’s thick, dark hair.

“ _ Sharon _ ,” she sighs, her other hand going--

She jerks awake, breathing hard and fast and hardly knowing which way is up.

She’s practically swimming in sweat, and her underwear is hopeless. Her sudden disorientation is enough to make the heat in her belly fade away, and her eyes get stuck on a dark shape in the corner of her eyes when she suddenly remembers where she is.

Sharon’s tent.

Adrenaline floods her instantly, and she’s scrambling away from the warmth at her side like it’s a rattlesnake, her body suddenly going cold with the realization.

If she’d said anything in her sleep, and if Sharon had heard her, she would turn herself in to Solomon without a second thought. She’d even tie her hands for him.

She stops when she’s about a foot away from Sharon, rigid with tension and hardly daring to breath. She keeps her eyes trained on Sharon, a lump of dread forming in her throat as she waits for a reaction.

There isn’t one.

Alaska allows herself to relax by increments, staring at Sharon and unwilling to close her eyes just yet. 

Sharon is motionless.

Alaska shuts her eyes.

She lays there for around thirty seconds before Sharon mutters something incomprehensible, and Alaska freezes, her eyes snapping open. Was Sharon mocking her? The thought makes something indignant shoot through her fear, and when she finally works up the courage to turn her head towards Sharon after several moments of silence, it’s with a harsh defense on her tongue.

Sharon’s still asleep.

Alaska stares at her face, looking for any sign of consciousness, but the only thing unusual is the small furrow between Sharon’s eyebrows. Alaska frowns at it - the expression doesn’t fit with her teasing theory - and just as she’s getting ready to just open her mouth and ask, Sharon moves and startles her back into silence.

Sharon mutters something else, the words impossible to decipher. Her frown deepens, and Alaska can see her eyes moving rapidly behind her eyelids. She shifts again, turning her head just slightly away from Alaska.

“Bastard,” she mumbles, and it’s punctuated with a sort of gasping sob.

Alaska nearly jolts as she realizes: Sharon is having a nightmare.

She doesn’t know what to do. Waking her up seems dangerous, like provoking a scared animal into attacking, but as Sharon’s face morphs into something more distressed, she thinks that leaving her to her dream is cruel - even if Sharon had put Alaska right into a real life nightmare. She lifts herself onto her knees, leaning over Sharon.

“Sharon,” she whispers, hand going to touch the other woman’s shoulder. Sharon flinches violently, and Alaska jerks her hand away like she’s just been burned.

“Fuck off!” Sharon shouts, her words still slightly slurred. Alaska jumps at the sudden noise. “I didn’t--” She cuts off, and something about the silence is incredibly disturbing.

Alaska’s blood runs cold, a sick feeling in her stomach, and as she reaches out to shake Sharon awake, Sharon begins to thrash around, fists punching out without direction. Alaska shies away, afraid of getting hit, but the expression on Sharon’s face has her leaning back in.

Ironically, what wakes Sharon up is punching Alaska in the nose.

Alaska falls back with a shout, clutching her nose and blinking away the tears of pain rapidly springing up in her eyes. “Fuck!” she snaps out, and Sharon’s eyes fly open.

Alaska watches, feelings now more bitter than tender, as Sharon’s eyes dart all over the tent, disoriented. She waits patiently for Sharon to piece it all together, and there’s a sort of grim satisfaction that wells up within her when Sharon’s gaze finally lands on Alaska.

Her face flattens with realization. “Jesus,” she says, slowly raising herself up into a sitting position, gentle on her injury and looking at Alaska with a mixture of guilt and wry amusement. “This is why Jinkx sleeps with Alyssa and not with me.”

“I just thought she didn’t want to see your face first thing in the morning,” Alaska says, still waiting for an apology.

“That too,” Sharon says, rubbing her knuckles, and Alaska realizes that an apology isn’t coming. Rage is almost a warm comfort after the cold fear she’s been feeling since the moment she woke up.

“What the fuck even was that?” she snaps, voice a little more shrill than she would like. “I mean--?” She motions to her nose, and then to Sharon, arching her eyebrows in disbelief. “Who fucking does that?”

“You’re acting like I did it on purpose,” Sharon says dryly, and suddenly the bags under her eyes are a lot more visible in the moonlight leaking into the tent. Alaska ignores them in favor of making a face.

“Like it’s that out of character,” she says. “Roxxxy told me what you do to your hostages.”

“You’re not a hostage.”

“Does it matter?” Alaska cries, voice more nasally than usual with her hand over her nose. “You  _ punched _ me!”

Sharon deflates. “You’re right,” she says, and she sounds sincere. “I’m sorry. Here, let me look at it.”

And without Alaska’s permission, she takes Alaska’s wrist and pulls it away from her face.

Sharon immediately grimaces, sucking a breath in through her teeth. “Fuck.”

“What?” Alaska asks, worried. Her hand flies up to touch her nose, but Sharon catches it before she’s three inches from her face. 

“Don’t touch it,” she says, voice quiet and a frown of concentration on her face. Her eyes don’t move from Alaska’s nose. “You might make it worse.”

Fear makes Alaska’s heart stop. “Is it broken?” she nearly screeches, her nose throbbing in tandem with her heartbeat, and Sharon gives her wrist a little tug, glaring at her.

“ _ Shh _ ,” she hisses, glancing at the tent flap. “Do you want to wake the whole camp?”

Alaska tries not to stare at where Sharon’s fingers are still looped around her wrist, hyper aware of the warmth of Sharon’s skin on hers. She stills under the guise of allowing Sharon to examine her face, but she’s also afraid of scaring the contact away. “Does it look bad?” she asks, lowering her voice. Sharon squints at her, fingers tightening imperceptibly on Alaska’s arm as she leans closer.

“I can’t see well enough. Hold on.” 

“If you broke my nose,” Alaska says as Sharon stands with some difficulty, the place where her hand had been cold on Alaska’s wrist, “I’ll scream for real.”

“I didn’t fuck up your face,” Sharon says, voice distracted. She makes her way over to the lantern, grabbing the box of matches. “I wouldn’t do that to myself.” She strikes the match as she says it, and a small, warm light appears with a scratch, flickering between Sharon’s fingers.

“What, you’ll miss this pretty face?” Alaska guesses as Sharon touches the match to the wick of the lantern. The flame grows, and as the tent floods with yellow light, Sharon turns to give Alaska a mischievous look. 

“More like I don’t want to look at an ugly one,” she says, kneeling back down in front of Alaska and flicking away the used match.

Alaska makes a face at her. “Hilarious,” she says, and Sharon gives her a bright grin.

“It’s a talent,” she says, leaning forwards seemingly without the concept of personal space. Alaska can’t help but look at her, unable to tear her eyes away from Sharon’s messy hair and the pillow creases on her cheek, the dark bags under her eyes. She looks more beautiful than Alaska’s ever seen her.

Alaska’s breath catches at the thought, and when Sharon touches her wrist again, she jerks it away quickly. “Don’t touch me,” she murmurs, dropping her eyes down to her lap.

Sharon sits back, giving Alaska an unimpressed look. “Well,” she says. “I have to, if you want to find out if I broke your nose or not.”

Alaska glares at her, but it’s without heat. Her nose feels strangely warm, pain still aching through it. “Fine. But  _ only  _ my nose.”

“Noted,” Sharon says, clearly annoyed. “I’ll make sure not to scald you with my touch.”

“Thank you,” Alaska says primly, and she sits up a little, posture straight, in order to allow Sharon to reach her better.

Sharon scoots forwards a little, concentration slipping back over her expression, but she still raises her hands up in warning before she reaches towards Alaska’s face. Alaska holds her breath as Sharon’s hand grazes her jaw, already breaking the rule, to keep her steady while her other hand gently presses down the bridge of Alaska’s nose.

It hurts, and Alaska flinches a little at the initial contact. “Shit,” she hisses. “That  _ hurts. _ ”

“I’m sure,” Sharon says, taking her other hand off of Alaska’s jaw to press down the sides of her nose. Alaska pretends she doesn’t miss it. “It’s so fucking swollen. You could give Bozo a run for his money.”

“He can keep it,” Alaska says dryly, amused despite her possibly broken nose and the fact that Sharon just made fun of her. “I’m not interested in clownery.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Sharon says, scooting back again and giving Alaska a look so fond that she briefly breaks eye contact to stare at the tent wall. “It’s not broken.”

Alaska sighs a little, giddy with relief, dropping her perfect posture and giving Sharon a small smile. “Thank god, I thought I was about to have the third most severe injury out of four for Katya to heal.”

Sharon laughs, and Alaska shushes her with how loud it is. “Don’t discredit Morgan,” she says, eyes twinkling in the flickering light. “Thigh wounds can be nasty.”

Alaska snorts. “I meant you, you idiot, yours is barely big enough to be called a cut.”

“That was my next guess,” Sharon says, grinning. “Because last place certainly isn’t Detox.”

Alaska grimaces, her brief glimpse of Detox’s injury sombering her a little. “God, no.”

“How is she?”

“Detox?”

“Of course.”

“I…. She’s fine. Katya got the bullet out of her, so she says she’s out of the woods.”

Sharon's expression softens with relief, though worry still lingers on the edges. “Thank fucking god,” she breathes out. Her face flickers with something like regret. “I shouldn’t even have to ask you. I should have been in there with her, with Katya.”

Alaska frowns at her. “You really care about them, don’t you?”

Sharon looks at her, something in her eyes sharp. “Of course I do,” she says shortly. “What, do you think I’m just making myself some sort of army?”

Alaska raises an eyebrow. “I  _ did _ ,” she says, and Sharon’s expression darkens. “But not for a long time. If you can count two days as a ‘long time’.”

Sharon deflates, her face relaxing. “When they feel this long? Yes,” she sighs. “And I do care. Even when I know they don’t want it.” She gives Alaska a significant look, and Alaska feels a flush creep up her neck. She looks away.

“Sounds like a waste of your time,” she says.

“It’s not.”

There’s a long moment of silence. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just build an army?” Alaska eventually asks, a little shaken by Sharon’s implied meaning. “To get less emotionally involved in the fight?”

Sharon tilts her head, frowning. “Maybe if the point was fighting Solomon,” she says, after a beat. “But it’s not.”

Alaska snorts. “Sure.”

Sharon tightens her lips. “It’s not,” she repeats, irritation creeping into her tone. “It’s about freedom. Nothing else.”

“Freedom doesn’t exist,” Alaska shoots back, her own frustrations rising with Sharon’s anger. “Everything has a price, and I don’t want to pay  _ anything. _ ”

Sharon frowns. “Alaska, you don’t have to pay--”

“I  _ do, _ ” Alaska stresses, looking at Sharon again. A lump lodges itself in her throat at the expression in Sharon’s eyes. It frightens Alaska, but she can’t look away. “I either have to sacrifice society or what I want, and we both know the right answer to that is what I want.”

“The law isn’t always right.”

“Then how do we know what is?” Alaska says, and she’s horrified to feel a tear drip down her cheek. She turns her face away quickly, wiping her cheek. It makes her nose ache terribly and she feels like sobbing. “Let’s just go back to sleep.”

A hand touches her wrist. “Alaska--”

“Please,” Alaska says softly, pulling her wrist away. “I’m tired.”

“Alright,” Sharon says as Alaska lies down, her lip wobbling uncontrollably. “I’ll blow out the lantern.”

Alaska doesn’t shut her eyes until long after Sharon’s breathing evens out. She makes sure she’s as far away from Sharon as possible, turning her back to her and crying softly into the pillow they’d given her.

She misses home, but home is beginning to feel less and less familiar, and that’s more frightening than anything else.

🌸

Sharon obediently follows Katya’s instructions of a week of rest for about one more day, and then she starts getting restless.

It’s annoying.

“At least let me take a walk,” Sharon is saying over breakfast, food only half eaten. “If I can’t ride Cerrone somewhere, at  _ least  _ let me walk.”

“You’d tear your stitches if you rode a horse!” Jinkx says, looking at Sharon incredulously. “You can barely bend your waist to sit down! Don’t act like we’re being unreasonable!”

“I won’t tear my stitches walking,” Sharon argues. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not even supposed to be out of your tent,” Jinkx says, unimpressed. “You’re lucky you’ve gotten this far.”

“Don’t worry about Katya’s orders,” Sharon says, waving a hand dismissively. “She’s in town. We’re safe for the rest of the day.”

“Injuries don’t go away just because Katya isn’t here to take care of them, Sharon.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Sharon whines, but when Jinkx raises an eyebrow, she amends, “that badly.”

“You’re staying here,” Jinkx says, standing and dumping the rest of her food into the fire. “That’s final.” She holds a hand out for Sharon’s plate, and she passes it to her.

“I didn’t realize being injured meant I wasn’t in charge anymore,” Sharon says, and Jinkx shrugs as she tosses the food.

“We can talk when you start making responsible decisions,” she says, taking Alaska’s plate as well. “And this isn’t a good first step.”

“Funny,” Sharon says. “But I was making a joke. I’m still in charge, and I’m going on a walk.”

Jinkx presses her lips together. “Alone?” she asks, in a tone that suggests that she will not be letting that happen.

“No,” Sharon says. “With Alaska.”

Alaska stares at her. “What? No.”

“I want to show you something,” Sharon says earnestly, seemingly oblivious to Alaska’s tone, and to the fact that she’s been avoiding Sharon for the past day. At least, as much as you can avoid someone you’re sharing a tent with.

Their conversation two nights ago has been echoing in Alaska’s thoughts constantly, her fear of returning home and her fear of staying with Sha- in the camp battling each other only to make Alaska angrier, especially at Sharon. After snapping at the other woman when they’d both woken up, Alaska’s nose still tender, she’d hung around Jinkx and then Katya, when Jinkx was with Sharon.

Unfortunately, Katya is in town, likely for a while, given the sneaky whisper about Trixie Katya had put in her ear, and Jinkx likes to take breakfast with Sharon. Sharon hasn’t even seemed to notice Alaska’s avoidance, and that somehow makes it all worse.

“I don’t….” Alaska trails off, wanting to argue, but suddenly blanking on an excuse. She has to give in if she doesn’t want to start a scene, and it’s with obvious resentment that she says, “I, um. Fine.”

“I’m taking Alaska,” Sharon decides, and she stands up slowly, wincing as her stitches stretch a little.

“This is a bad idea,” Jinkx says, watching Sharon struggle to straighten her posture. “And you’re an idiot.”

“What could happen?”

“Cougars, the law, um,  _ Solomon’s gang,  _ whatever Katya thinks might happen… there’s a list of things.”

“Why don’t you come, Jinkx?” Alaska asks sweetly, Jinkx’s warnings working better on her than they do on their actual target. “Sharon can’t draw her gun quickly, and I don’t even know how to work one.”

“Oh,” Jinkx says, raising her eyebrows and letting out a wry chuckle. “I’m not endorsing this. And I can’t shoot, either - if Sharon’s in danger, she’ll have to save herself.”

“Love you too, Jinkxie.” Sharon says, and she turns, motioning for Alaska to follow. “We won’t be gone long, anyway.”

“Thank god,” Alaska mutters, catching up to Sharon. Sharon glances at her.

“I heard that.”

“You think I care?” Alaska asks darkly, and Sharon’s smirk makes an appearance. 

“At least a little.”

Alaska looks at her, her cheeks growing warm before she can even think of a response, her strange attachment to the camp and to Sharon the last thing she wants to think about right now. “No,” she says. “I’m not doing this.” She speeds up ahead of Sharon, easy due to Sharon’s injury, but the edge of the clearing stops her only a few seconds later.

“You don’t even know where we’re going!” Sharon says, by her side again almost immediately. “I don’t --”

“Wait!” A voice interrupts her, and they turn around to find Jinkx jogging towards them, something in her hands. As she draws nearer, Alaska can make out the shape of a pistol.

“Alaska,” Jinkx says, shoving it into Alaska’s hand. “Take this. You flick the safety and then you shoot. Aim with your hips.” Alaska takes it automatically, the gun a strangely comfortable weight in her hands, but before she can say anything, Jinkx is turning to Sharon with urgency.

“Shaz,” she says, taking Sharon’s hands in hers and squeezing tightly. Alaska feels a strange spark of irritation at the contact. “You’re an idiot.  _ Please  _ don’t go too far.”

“I’m too afraid of Katya to go farther than a mile,” Sharon jokes, although her voice is soft. “And I doubt I can walk that far, anyway.”

“Where are you going?”

“Just the field.”

Jinkx frowns at Sharon a little. “You’re showing her the field?”

Sharon smirks. “Why not?”

Jinkx gives her a look that Alaska can’t quite decipher, and it only makes her more irritated. She  _ hates  _ being out of the loop. “Just be back in two hours, and don’t get killed. If you’re not, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Noted,” Sharon says, and Jinkx gives her hands one last squeeze before turning to leave.

“Alaska,” she says, after she takes a few steps away. “Flick the safety, aim with your hips, and pull the trigger.”

“And I’m taking gun advice from you because?” 

“Because Sharon’s a terrible teacher, and I’m the next best thing.” And with that, she's gone. Alaska finds herself relieved.

Sharon frowns after Jinkx. “I’m a good teacher,” she says a little petulantly, glancing at Alaska. “At least - I’m not terrible.”

“Whatever,” Alaska mutters, ready to be done with Jinkx and to get to this ‘field’, her curiosity admittedly sparked. “Are we going?”

Sharon glances at the gun Alaska’s holding, looking skeptical. “Promise not to shoot me with that thing?”

“I won’t,” Alaska says, “I wouldn’t know how to, anyway.” She waves the gun for emphasis only to have Sharon still her movement by grabbing her wrist. 

“That’s a good way to shoot one or both of us,” Sharon says, letting go before Alaska can jerk away. She’s smiling, laughter coloring her words, and it’s such a pleasant change from the whining they’d all been putting up with for the past day and a half that Alaska smiles back.

“Sorry.”

“Here,” Sharon says. “Put it in your waistband.” She taps Alaska just above where the waist of her skirt ends with the back of her hand, and Alaska slaps it away. Sharon just cackles.

“Fine,” Alaska says, upset with the heat in her face. “Just - don’t do that again.”

Sharon laughs. “I’ll try not to.”

Alaska tucks the barrel of the gun into her skirt, the handle sticking out, and then they start down the path to the creek in a comfortable silence.

“You interrupted my bath, you know,” Alaska says airily as they walk along the creekside, never one to tolerate much silence.

“Hm?”

“When you all came storming the camp.”

“Are you asking for an apology?” Sharon asks after a beat. She glances back at Alaska with a disbelieving smile. “For interrupting your bath?”

Alaska nearly rushes to apologize, but something about the way Sharon’s eyes sparkle makes amusement bubble up in her chest instead. “I wasn’t,” Alaska says, smirking. “But now that you mention it….”

“You are!” Sharon cries, but the grin on her face gives her away. “I was  _ shot,  _ and you’re thinking about your bath?”

“I heard somewhere that it was just a graze,” Alaska says, and Sharon cackles.

“ _ Apparently _ ,” she says as they reach a small hill, “grazes can be pretty serious.”

“Tell that to the woman who’s climbing a hill right now,” Alaska says as Sharon starts up, her hand almost instantly going to cover her ribs.

“I’ll tell her when it proves to be a problem,” Sharon says once she reaches the top, more out of breath than she should be. Her hand still covers her injury as she looks down at Alaska. Alaska shakes her head.

“What?” Sharon asks, widening her eyes with mock innocence. “The field’s just right here. Come on.”

Alaska sighs, but she starts up the hill, reaching the top much faster than Sharon had. 

What she sees on the other side takes her breath away.

A field of wildflowers stretches out as far as she can see, breaking away from the pine trees and surrounded by green hills, their ridges covered in an ocean of long grass that waves when the breeze blows. The mountains stand tall, closer than they’d looked from her uncle’s house, and the foggy blue of them compliments the pale pinks and purples, the bright yellows and blues of the flowers bobbing in the wind.

She drinks in the sight, but instead of forgetting Sharon, knowing that the other woman is with her almost seems to enhance the beauty of the scene.

“You like it?” Sharon asks, and Alaska turns to look at her. She’s almost as beautiful as the scene before them, her blue eyes catching the sunlight and the wind playing with her hair, and Alaska takes more than a few moments to gather her thoughts. Sharon smirks, looking entirely pleased with herself. “You do.”

Alaska can’t even pretend to deny it. “How did you find this place?” she asks, looking back out over the field. The wind blowing through the grass is the only sound Alaska can hear, and it feels like she and Sharon are the only people in the world. 

“Jinkx and I found it around a year ago,” Sharon says, her voice softened. “We’d just found the campsite and were doing a parameter check when we stumbled across this.”

Alaska feels suddenly as if she’s crashed back down to Earth, the mention of Jinkx making the colors of the wildflowers more real and less entrancing. She ignores the way her heart drops, a little confused at the feeling. It was stupid to think that she would be the first person Sharon told about the field - it’s stupid to  _ want  _ it.

“Well,” Alaska says, still looking out at the flowers and reluctant to even glance at Sharon lest her idiotic disappointment show on her face. “We should probably head back, now that we’ve seen it.”

“No!” Sharon says, and Alaska finally looks at her to find a disbelieving expression on her face. “You don’t want to go in?”

“And do what?”

“Pick some! Jinkx likes to stick them in her hat like some sort of storybook character,” Sharon says, already starting down the hill.

Alaska rolls her eyes, and she twists her mouth into an annoyed curl. “Well, if it’s for  _ Jinkx _ , then I guess I--  _ Sharon!”  _ she shrieks, horrified, as Sharon stumbles and falls, landing hard on her side and rolling down the rest of the hill and into the wildflowers.

Alaska is after her without a second thought.

“Sharon?  _ Sharon _ ,” Alaska says, at Sharon’s side in an instant. She falls to her knees, the bent wildflowers acting as a nice sort of cushion. “Are you alright? Let me see your bandages.”

“I’m fine,” Sharon says, laughing a little, but her voice is stressed and she can’t quite keep the grimace off of her face. “I don’t think I landed on it.” Alaska can see her hand fluttering over her ribcage, however, too afraid to touch the injury even gently, and she slaps the hand away.

“Don’t touch it,” she snaps. She goes to untuck Sharon’s shirt, but Sharon stops her, grabbing her hand with both of her own.

“It’s fine, Alaska,” Sharon says, brow still furrowed with pain. “I’m--”

“You have to be a better liar than that,” Alaska says dryly, tugging her hand out of Sharon’s. “Now. Let me see your bandages.”

Sharon pouts, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Go ahead,” she says, shrugging. “Turn it into a production.”

“That must take a lot of effort,” Alaska says, gently tugging Sharon’s shirt out of her pants and trying to ignore the way her heartbeat elevates as Sharon’s smooth skin comes into view. Her dream comes to mind, unbidden, as it has for the past two days, but with Sharon right in front of her….  _ Ignore it, Alaska. _

“What?”

“Blaming other people for the results of your mistakes.”

“Funny,” Sharon says, but despite the sarcasm her mouth curls up a tiny bit. Alaska’s heart skips a beat at the sight, and she tries to keep her hands from shaking as she pushes Sharon’s shirt up her torso, revealing the fresh bandages Katya had put on that morning.

Except, they aren’t white anymore.

“Sharon,” Alaska says, heart dropping. “I think you tore your stitches.”

Sharon lets out a short laugh. “Feels like it.”

“The stain is still pretty small,” Alaska tells her, worry and adrenaline flooding her system. She needs to do something. Now. “We should start heading back now before it gets any worse.”

She starts standing, but Sharon grabs her arm before she can straighten her legs, forcing her back onto her knees.

“Lasky,” Sharon says, and Alaska blushes at the nickname, too flustered and panicked to feel irritated. “It’s fine. If the stain is small we can afford to just lie here a moment.”

“We shouldn’t be risking anything,” Alaska says. “We shouldn’t --”

“Alaska,” Sharon says, and Alaska doesn’t know what to do with the expression that crosses the other woman’s face. “Let’s enjoy this. I want to enjoy this, just for a little while. With you.”

The last two words make Alaska’s breath stutter. “With me,” she repeats, voice soft.

“You’re a bad influence,” Sharon says, smirking. “I’m not normally one to break the rules.”

Alaska snorts. “I’m sure,” she says. “That lines up.”

She looks around at the wildflowers and how they sway in the cool breeze, and she glances at the two small red dots on Sharon’s bandages. 

“Five minutes,” Alaska says, lying down. The flower stems and the grass prick her arms uncomfortably, but it’s easy to forget once she looks over at Sharon and sees the bright grin on her face.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Sharon says, and Alaska swats her arm gently, fondness rushing over her without warning.

“Are you telling me you lied to get your way?”

“I didn’t say I lied,” Sharon says, expression softening, and Alaska suddenly can’t look at her anymore.

“If that’s true,” Alaska says, putting as much skepticism into her voice as she can. Her heart is thrumming with nerves, the question she’s about to ask a scary one. “Why me? Why not - why not Jinkx?”

“Didn’t you hear Jinkx vehemently reject coming with me?”

Alaska looks at her to show her that she means the question, and Sharon’s expression relaxes into something serious. 

“Because you’re the only thing that’s more beautiful than these flowers.”

Alaska needs to kiss her.

The feeling comes on so suddenly and strongly that she’s turning towards Sharon without a second thought, her hand coming up to brush Sharon’s cheek, but she’s jerked back into rational thought when Sharon abruptly flinches, her eyes flicking up above Alaska’s head.

“Sorry,” Alaska blurts out, jerking away like she’s been burned. Fear and regret are chunks of ice in the pit of her stomach. “I didn’t--”

“ _ Shhh, _ ” Sharon hisses harshly, her eyes staying steady above Alaska’s head. Alaska freezes, fear dripping slowly into her veins. She stares at Sharon’s face, waiting for some explanation. Sharon nods behind her, and Alaska slowly turns to look.

A man on a horse stands at the top of the ridge behind her.

He’s small, with the distance, but it’s still the most frightening image Alaska has ever seen.

She looks back at Sharon to find her reaching for her gun holster, before she falters, muffling a cry of pain by pressing her lips together. She drops her hand, instead looking at Alaska urgently.

“I don’t think he sees us,” she whispers lowly. “But you need to draw your gun.”

Alaska blanks for a moment before she remembers that she has Jinkx’s pistol tucked into her skirt, and she pulls it out. She attempts to flick the safety off, but her hands are shaking so badly that it takes her several tries.

“Don’t shoot unless I say so,” Sharon whispers again. Alaska nods, heart pounding so hard she feels like she might puke.

She rolls over slowly, aiming the gun as best she can at the man, too tense to shake terribly, but still shaking. She closes one eye and lines the gun up with the man’s head, copying what she’d seen Alyssa Edwards do as a child. She can only hope Alyssa had done it right.

They remain stock still for what feels like hours, nausea burning at the back of Alaska’s throat and her finger a hairpin away from pulling the trigger, until the man finally trots away on his horse, apparently unaware that he’d been witness to anything other than the flowers.

As soon as he’s vanished from sight Alaska drops the gun, hands shaking so terribly that she can barely get a good grip on it.

“Alaska?” Sharon asks, voice still low, as Alaska stumbles to her feet, staggering a few yards away to puke into a bundle of blue sage. 

“Jesus Christ,” she gasps out, wiping her mouth. “Who was that?”

“Probably just a mountain man,” Sharon says, attempting to sit up before falling back with a cry of pain. “But he could have been a lawman.”

“A lawman?” Alaska says faintly. “I almost shot-?”

“Get over yourself,” Sharon says, voice suddenly harsh. “Yeah, you almost shot a lawman. He would have shot you if he’d been given the chance.”

“I’m a civilian,” Alaska says, still a little queasy. She can’t believe she almost shot a lawman. A  _ good _ man. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Being with me is enough,” Sharon says, bitterness creeping into her tone. “Trust me.”

“Like I would ever trust you,” Alaska sneers, irritation coming in hard and fast at Sharon’s unintentional innuendo. She can’t believe she’d been about to kiss-- she feels sick to her stomach again. 

Sharon is silent for a beat. “Tough,” she eventually says. “Because I’m your best bet. Now, let’s get back to camp.”

They stare at each other for a long second, scowling, before Alaska sighs her defeat, rationality kicking in. 

Renewed anger still churns in her gut as she moves to help Sharon up, residual panic making her move quickly, and she lets go of Sharon’s hands the moment she’s on her feet.

She hates Sharon. She hates this life, hates what it brings out in her, and she wants to go back to where things make sense.

Back to where she’s nervous to shoot a man because it would be murder, and not because she’s afraid she’ll miss.

🌸

Alaska isn’t in the mood to talk on the way back to camp, and so they spend most of the journey in silence, Sharon in too much pain to say much anyway. Alaska would make space between them as they walked as well, except Sharon has to cling to Alaska’s arm like an older woman does with her husband, straightening her posture too much for her injury to handle. Alaska tries not to think about Sharon’s warm hands on her arm and instead thinks as hard as she can about the gun tucked into her waistband.

It’s easy to avoid Sharon when they get back to camp. Alaska elects to shove Jinkx’s gun back at her wordlessly, instead of following Sharon and a now-returned Katya into their tent, and she makes sure to stay away from anyone and everyone as much as she can. It leaves her lingering alone by the fire long after dark, sitting on a log and warming her hands over the dwindling fire, and it’s how Jinkx finds her around an hour after Katya goes to bed.

Alaska just looks at Jinkx when she sees her come into the fire pit, the thought of talking to someone, especially Jinkx, less than desirable. Jinkx pauses at her stare for a moment.

She gives her a long, searching look back before she suddenly turns to the fire, ladling whatever is in the pot into a mug. She holds it out to Alaska.

“Coffee?”

Alaska looks at her. “Thanks,” she says, after a moment, and she takes it. The metal is warm in her hands, and she doesn’t dare to sip it yet, fearing it will burn her tongue.

“What are you still doing up?” Jinkx asks, settling next to Alaska on the log she’s on. Alaska glares into the mug, irritated by the question.

“I could ask the same thing.”

“I asked first,” Jinkx says. “But I think I can answer easier. I have first watch.”

“You have watches?”

“Why do you think Sharon caught you that first night?” Jinkx asks, laughing a little, and Alaska snorts, irritation forgotten.

“I thought she just knew,” Alaska says. “She already seemed to know so much - it felt like she was some sort of witch.”

“I wouldn’t say that’s much of a stretch,” Jinkx giggles, smiling slowly. “Have you heard her laugh?”

“Who hasn’t?” Alaska cries. “You could hear it for miles!”

Jinkx laughs at that, her own mug of coffee sloshing dangerously. “We love it, though,” she adds, and Alaska opens her mouth to agree before she catches herself. Associating ‘love’ with Sharon doesn’t feel like a safe thing to do, and the fear from earlier helps her work her anger back up.

“Speak for yourself,” she says instead, forcing the smile off of her face. It only makes Jinkx laugh again.

“Is this why you and Sharon didn’t come back with flowers?” she asks. “Did you offend each other too much?”

Alaska feels a truer irritation spark at the mention of the field, the bond Jinkx and Sharon seem only seeming to annoy her further. “Yeah,” she says, staring into her coffee. “That’s what happened.” 

“It clearly isn’t,” Jinkx says, still smiling. “Is it that embarrassing? Were you doing something else? Sharon’s stitches were torn  _ somehow-- _ ”

“I almost shot someone,” Alaska blurts out, irritated, and a spike of adrenaline shooting through her heart at the implication that Sharon’s stitches were torn by something other than falling down the hill. Almost immediately a lump of tears wedges itself in her throat, the shocked numbness she’d been feeling all day suddenly wearing off.

“Oh,” Jinkx says, surprised. 

“There was a man,” Alaska continues, voice wobbling. “He was just watching us. Sharon told me to aim m-- the gun because she couldn’t, and I was  _ this  _ close to pulling the trigger.” She stumbles over her words, the ‘ _ my’  _ nearly slipping out without a thought. 

She doesn’t have a gun, and sometimes that feels like the only thing that separates her from these women.

“I doubt you would have hit him,” Jinkx says, and Alaska looks at her.

“Does it matter?” she asks, voice quiet in an effort to keep it from breaking. “I was - I was ready to murder someone. I didn’t even think twice about it.”

“Alaska,” Jinkx says, and Alaska nearly jumps at the hand that lands on her back. “You weren’t ready to murder someone. You were ready to defend yourself.”

“No,” Alaska says, dropping her eyes to their feet. “I was--”

“You were doing what was necessary.”

“I don’t even know if he was part of the law, Jinkx. I could have shot a man for no reason at all.”

“Sharon would have made sure,” Jinkx says, voice almost as low as Alaska’s. “But you had to be prepared. You couldn’t have done anything else.”

“I could have let him arrest us,” Alaska says. “Or let him come closer, so that he could see there was nothing wrong.”

“Tell me, Alaska,” Jinkx says, tone a little harder. “Can you say with complete confidence that he wouldn’t have just shot you first?”

“What? He wouldn’t have,” Alaska says, looking back at Jinkx’s face. The other woman’s expression is serious, head bent to try and catch her eyes. “We weren’t doing anything.”

“He would have seen Sharon’s face,” Jinkx says. “And he would have shot her.”

“She’s wanted dead or alive,” Alaska says, but her stomach flips over at the thought of Sharon, lying helpless in the flowers, getting shot point blank by some stranger, and all for a reward. It’s a disturbing thought, and it sticks - she couldn’t wipe it away even if she tried.

“You say you don’t want to murder,” Jinkx says, voice suddenly hard. She stands up, a peculiar expression on her face. It takes Alaska a moment to realize that it’s betrayal. “So what about that makes it okay?”

Alaska startles a little at the shift. “I--” Alaska stutters, and she stands up as well. “It’s - it doesn’t - I don’t know. But I have to trust the law.”

“The law isn’t always right,” Jinkx says, but she deflates a little, the anger on her face fading quickly into something more like disappointment. It makes guilt curdle in Alaska’s stomach.

“If I had a dime every time I heard that,” she jokes weakly, and Jinkx just looks at her.

“I think you have some things to think about,” she says. “You need to develop your own ideas, Alaska, before I can respect them. Get some sleep.”

Alaska flushes, insulted. “You think I don’t know my own morals?” she asks heatedly. 

“I know you don’t,” Jinkx says. “Go to bed.”

Alaska doesn’t know how to respond, and, still fuming, she pours out her coffee and goes to bed.

🌸

Alaska wakes up feeling the most comfortable she’s been since New York.

She sighs happily, not bothering to open her eyes, and snuggling further into her pillow, pleasantly warm even with the lingering chill the mornings at camp carry. She moves the arm she has wrapped around the pillow a little further down, nearly drifting off again, until her pillow makes a small, pained noise.

Alaska’s eyes shoot open to find that she isn’t, in fact, lying on her pillow that magically grew overnight - she’s lying on Sharon.

Alaska’s blood goes cold, and suddenly Sharon’s pleasant warmth feels useless.

Alaska jerks away on instinct, horrified, only to find that Sharon’s arm had looped around her somewhat. She can’t go far, but she yanks on Sharon’s arm, and Sharon awakens with a pained gasp.

“Jesus  _ fuck! _ ” she hisses, pulling her arm back quickly, and Alaska freezes, afraid of making the situation worse.

“Sorry!” she blurts out, still just inches away from Sharon and sweaty with nerves. Sharon flinches, whipping her head around to stare at Alaska.

“Alaska?” she asks, frowning, and Alaska feels a blush run all the way up her neck to her cheeks. She wouldn’t be surprised if her forehead was red, too. She’s speechless. “Is that your hand on my--?”

Alaska snatches her hand back from where it was resting on the curve of Sharon’s waist. “Who else’s would it be?” she snaps back, and Sharon raises her eyebrows.

“Jesus, if you wanted to do--”

“I don’t want to do anything,” Alaska interrupts, alarmed. She scoots back further, putting around a foot of distance between them and trying to ignore the way the cool morning air makes her shiver. She will not long for Sharon’s body heat. She will  _ not. _

“You were awfully close,” Sharon tells her, smirking. “You wanted to do  _ something. _ ”

“It’s cold,” Alaska sniffs. “It’s basic survival to want to be close to the warmest thing around.”

She waits for Sharon to shoot something back, her own ‘ _ and I know a way to make things even warmer’  _ haunting her mind, but Sharon frowns instead. 

“It’s cold--? For Christ’s sake, I’m  _ sweating.  _ Are you feeling alright?”

Alaska frowns back at her, shivering a little. “What are you talking about? It’s always cold in the mornings.”

“Not every morning,” Sharon says, and she motions to Alaska with her right arm, her left still covering her ribs. “Look, you’re  _ sweating _ .”

“Only because you were so warm,” Alaska says, and it’s true. Sharon had seemed comfortably warm compared to the morning chill, but now that Alaska is looking, she can see that Sharon is also sweating, and realizes that she was unreasonably warm. She narrows her eyes at Sharon’s flushed cheeks, bright against her otherwise pallid skin. “Are  _ you  _ feeling alright?”

“Just a headache,” Sharon says, pressing the palm of her hand into her forehead. A few strands of hair have plastered themselves against Sharon’s skin, dark ribbons against marble. “Nothing new there. And it’s so goddamn  _ hot _ .”

Alaska sits up, cold and embarrassment forgotten in the name of concern. “It isn’t hot,” she says, coming closer. “I think you might have a fever.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sharon mumbles, eyes still shut.

“Let me feel your forehead.”

“No.”

“Why not?” Alaska asks, exasperation coming on quickly. “Do you have to make everything difficult?”

Sharon just shrugs, and suddenly, Alaska is over it. 

“I’m getting breakfast,” she snaps, standing up. “Have fun sweating by yourself.”

Alaska ducks out of the tent as soon as she’s finished, Sharon’s ‘I’m used to it!’ following her out like a trail of cigarette smoke. She hesitates by the door, guilt a small prickle in her conscience. 

Sharon’s fine. She would say otherwise if she wasn’t.

It’s not true, but the idea of going back into the tent sends a jostle of emotions through Alaska - fear, excitement, anger,  _ fear  _ \- and all it does is make her irritable. What was she even thinking, trying to feel Sharon’s forehead like some worried housewife?

She storms off to where Katya and Alyssa are huddled by the fire, the meager ingredients for breakfast strewn next to them on the grass, and promises to herself that she’ll go see Sharon after breakfast if Katya doesn’t first. It appeases both the irritation boiling in her chest and the twinge of guilt in her gut, and she arrives behind the other women feeling fairly self satisfied.

Katya is in the middle of speaking, voice lowered in order to not wake the women still sleeping in tents, the sun having only just peaked out above the horizon. 

“We need money,” she’s saying, Alyssa nodding with her lips pursed worriedly. “But with Sharon and Detox down I’m not sure we’re going to be able to--”

“Alaska!” Alyssa interrupts, noticing her first with a coincidental glance behind her. “Baby! I pegged you as a sleeping beauty - what are you doin’ up so early?”

“Your omnipotence is failing you,” Alaska tells her, even though she’s right. The mention of how early it is has exhaustion tugging a yawn out of her, but she holds it back, unwilling to discuss why she’s up and out of the tent so early.

“Excuse me?” Alyssa asks, widening her eyes in offense. She turns to look at Katya. “‘Omnipit’-- is she trying to get a dig at me?”

Katya laughs, her wide grin bright. “You wish. She’s saying you are not psychic like you say, but something tells me she’s lying.”

Alaska frowns at her, pulling the corners of her lips down in confusion. “What?”

“You’re a late sleeper,” Katya says. “Obviously. You’re just up because you fought with Sharon again.”

“How could you  _ possibly _ know that?” Alaska cries over Alyssa’s cackles.

“I have my ways,” Katya says mysteriously, sitting down on the tree stump closest to the fire. “Now. Tell us what it was about.”

“I don’t think--”

“Come on, girl!” Alyssa says, giving her a crooked smile. “There ain’t no secrets here, even with Sharon.”

Alaska looks between them, defeated, and Katya gives her a sly smile when she starts talking. “It - I just - Sharon didn’t let me feel her forehead,” she finally gets out, feeling incredibly stupid. Alyssa laughs, but instead of the wheezing laughter Alaska expects to accompany it, Katya frowns.

“Why would you need to feel her forehead?” she asks, standing.

“She was sweating,” Alaska says.

“But it’s freezing,” Alyssa points out, tugging her shawl tighter around her.

“You think she has a fever?” Katya asks, her face growing pale. It sends a spike of alarm through Alaska, and her heart begins to pound as she stares at the other woman.

“She might,” she says. “I figured she’d be fine for a couple of hours.”

“ _ Shit, _ ” Katya hisses, and she points at Alyssa. “Alyssa, get my kit. I’ll be in Sharon’s tent. Alaska, come with me.”

“Why?” Alaska asks, following Katya closely as she walks briskly to Sharon’s tent. Her heart feels like it’s going to beat itself out of her chest, her twinge of guilt multiplying tenfold. “It’s just a fever--”

Katya pauses just before she pulls open the tent flap, looking at Alaska with urgency and too much worry in her eyes. It makes Alaska’s stomach bottom out, the world seeming to slow down around her as Katya tells her what she has to say.

“If she has an infection, it’s not just a fever.”

“And if she has an infection….” Alaska starts, feeling like she’s a little out of her body, realization starting to dawn on her. She feels so  _ stupid. _

Katya looks at her, a strange expression of anger and sympathy on her face. Alaska can’t begin to think of who either might be directed at as Katya finishes her thought, voice unusually soft:

“And if she has an infection, she might die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed!! follow me on tumblr @narcoleptic-drag-queen !!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There is only one road away from trouble, and this is along the straight and narrow road.” – Otto Wood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is late but the queue got delayed on aq and i have a principle that it posts there first. usually i wait a day but i really want to post it here now so
> 
> to quote mags (the beta keeping this ship together): “Oh no. She has a fever. There’s an infection. There’s an infection because I was stupid and let them lay on the ground.” 
> 
> In other words: I think we all know who to blame.

Alaska is nine again, and she has her ear pressed to her parents’ bedroom door, desperately trying to distinguish the muffled voices of the doctor and her father. Their deep voices sound the same, and she tries to hold her breath in order to hear them better, her pounding heartbeat hindrance enough.

She catches some words, but they don’t make any sense no matter what order she puts them into. The doctor, serious and droll, with his ‘look’s and ‘do’s. Her father, urgent and demanding, with his ‘best’s and ‘money’s.

She gets down on her hands and knees, finished with trying to hear through the wood the moment her father seems to become completely inaudible, and instead gets as close to the crack at the bottom as possible. The darkness of the hallway allows the warm light of candles to bleed through onto the hardwood, and Alaska turns her head to see underneath as well, staring at her father’s brown Oxfords and the doctor’s black Gladstone bag.

“There has to be something.” Her father. He sounds strange - wobbly, almost. But no less demanding. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what else to do,” the doctor sighs, sounding sad. “Her lungs will give out soon. I recommend you say your goodbyes while you still can. You have a daughter, correct?”

Alaska frowns, her breathing starting to pick up. They’re talking about her mother, but it doesn’t make sense. Her mother is strong - she’ll get through this. Her father thinks so too, and he’s never wrong. The doctor must be talking about someone else. 

He has to be.

“Yes,” her father says, after a beat. His voice is rough. “She - I haven’t been letting her in here. Just in case.”

“Wise,” the doctor says, and his bag lifts into the air, revealing nondescript black shoes. “But she should see Lily. Before it’s too late.”

Alaska waits for her father to deny him.

“Of course,” her father says, and Alaska’s heart drops. There’s another long pause. “Of course. And there’s nothing you can do?”

“Mr. Thunder,” the doctor says. “We’ve been prolonging this for far too long. It’s time.”

A beat. “Then you can get out,” her father says, voice cold like it gets when she comes in with grass stains on her skirt.

“Arthur--”

“ _ Get out. _ ”

The doctor sighs, but he starts walking to the door, and Alaska only has enough time to scramble back a few feet before he’s opening the door and nearly tripping over her.

“What--?” he says, arms spread out for balance as he stumbles, and Alaska has to squint her eyes against the sudden onslaught of light.

She looks up at him, silent with fear. He stares back at her, his eyebrows shooting up briefly in realization before his face flattens into an expression Alaska can’t pinpoint.

“You must be the daughter,” he says, and Alaska’s father can be heard from within the room.

“What?”

“Your daughter,” the doctor clarifies as her father appears above his shoulder, looking down severely at Alaska. “She was listening.”

“Clearly,” he father says, anger just barely hidden under his tone. “Get up,” he snaps at Alaska, who scrambles to her feet as quickly as she can. “A lady doesn’t behave this way in front of guests.”

Alaska stares at the ground in shame, tears welling in her eyes. “Sorry,” she says quietly, and she jumps as a large hand lands on her shoulder.

“Be gentle on her,” the doctor says, his voice softened. “Her curiosity is understandable, given the circumstances.”

“Didn’t I tell you to get out?” her father snaps, and the doctor’s hand briefly clenches on her shoulder before he’s drawing away.

“Mr. Thunder,” he says courteously, and then he moves down the stairs without so much as another word. Alaska finds herself longing for his comforting hand again - it feels like she hasn’t been touched since her mother went into her room and didn’t come out.

“Alaska, look at me,” her father says as soon as the front door slams shut. Alaska obeys, albeit reluctantly, and her father’s expression is one she’s never seen before.

It’s sad, and softened because of it. It has Alaska letting out a sob before she can help it.

“Jesus,” her father whispers, and suddenly he’s kneeling in front of her, reaching out to awkwardly touch her shoulder. “I’m sorry for snapping.”

“What’s wrong with mommy?” Alaska sobs, and before she can think better of it, she’s stepping forwards and burrowing her face into her father’s shoulder. He tenses underneath her, but a hand comes to rest on her back, and it’s enough. “Isn’t she going to be okay?”

“She--” her father stops. “Would you like to see her?”

He doesn’t have to explain that it will be the last time, and Alaska nods into his shoulder, only crying harder. 

“Alright,” he says, and then he stands. He doesn’t hold her hand as he leads her into the room, and Alaska feels bare, unsure, as they cross the threshold she hasn’t been allowed past for three months.

Three months of waiting for her mother to get better, and all for nothing.

She looks around the room, first - she takes in the pictures that hang on the walls, the patterned wallpaper that her mother had chosen earlier that year, the fresh flowers on the nightstand. Then, her eyes catch on the occupant of the enormous bed, and she bursts into a fresh round of tears.

Her mother hardly looks like herself.

She looks nearly dead, with her pallid skin and nearly colorless hair, the fever bright spots on her cheeks. Blood drips from several cuts on her arm, filling a small bowl on the bed, and a matching spot of blood stains the corner of her mouth. Her skin looks stretched, her cheekbones standing out far too much, and her breathing, already painfully slow, comes out in rattling wheezes.

When Alaska touches her hand, it’s far too warm.

“Mom?” she asks, and there’s no response. Her father’s hand lands on her shoulder, but it only seems to make things worse. “Mom?”

Another rattling wheeze. 

The room feels suddenly too hot, and Alaska breaks out into a horrible sweat, staring at her mother’s face. It’s too stuffy, and Alaska feels like she can’t breathe either, the warm air filling her lungs and suffocating her until she--

Alaska wakes up sweating, gasping for air.

It takes her a moment to orient herself - she’s in Colorado, not New York, she’s in Sharon’s tent, not her mother’s sickroom, and it’s 1874, not 1859. More importantly, the air is cool here, and not a suffocating heat.

She’s still sweating, however, and it takes her another moment to realize that it’s because Sharon is plastered to her side, shivering, and burning hot.

It sends Alaska’s heart into overdrive.

“Sharon?” she asks worriedly, pulling away from the other woman as gently as she can. “Wake up.  _ Sharon _ .” 

No response.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Alaska says, pushing her hair out of her face. She tries again, this time with a shout: “ _ Sharon _ !”

There isn’t a response, and Alaska’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of her chest, a lump of tears wedging itself in her throat. “Please,” she says, taking in Sharon’s flushed cheeks, her grey skin. Tears well up in her eyes and blur her vision. Thoughts of death and disease start to grow in her mind like a fungus, and she feels suddenly weak, shaking slightly.

She buries her face in her hands, sobbing. She feels hopeless, like Sharon’s already gone without one last chance to say goodbye, and she feels like giving up. She feels like curling into a ball and disappearing forever, like running out of the tent and into the woods until she can be alone for good. Somewhere she can live without loved ones that die and leave her anyway.

But what kind of existence is that?

The thought shocks clarity into her, its voice startlingly like Sharon’s. She takes one deep breath, the inhale shaky, and then another. 

“Fucking  _ hell _ ,” she breathes out, and she reaches out to Sharon, and  _ shakes  _ her. “ _ Sharon! _ ”

All she gets is a flutter of the eyelids and a faint groan. 

It’s enough to give her hope.

“Jesus,” she breathes out, and she stumbles to her feet, tripping slightly over her long skirt. Relief has her shaking again. She pushes her hair out of her face again, wiping her tears off of her face as she grabs her shawl from Sharon’s dresser. 

She needs to get Katya.  _ Now. _

🌸

Alaska is not allowed back into the tent once Katya is inside.

It’s horribly reminiscent of her mother’s final hours, her nightmare coming back to haunt her now that her only distraction is how the embers glow in the fire pit, but Jinkx soon appears at her side, looking worried out of her mind and like she hasn’t slept all night.

Alaska is so grateful to see her.

“Is she going to be okay?” Jinkx asks worriedly, taking Alaska’s hand and squeezing it. 

Alaska thinks briefly about jerking away, staring at their hands for a moment, but she knows Jinkx needs the physical comfort, and it isn’t hurting her. She squeezes back, and the solidity of Jinkx’s hand in hers is reassuring.

“I have no idea,” she says, turning her eyes back to the dying fire. 

“How bad is she?” Jinkx asks. “How was she when you went to sleep? Did you hear anything? Did--”

“She wasn’t waking up,” Alaska interrupts, her own distress mounting as Jinkx talks out her own. “Her fever is so bad that she wasn’t  _ waking up. _ ” Her heart starts to pound again at the thought, and her mother’s sleeping face flashes through her mind like a bad omen.

“Jesus Christ,” Jinkx whispers, and Alaska feels like crying again.

“I need to go in,” she says, and she tries to wipe her tears away as subtly as she can manage. “I have to  _ see _ her. But--” She cuts herself off, unable to speak anymore without sobbing.

“We need to let Katya do her work the way she needs to,” Jinkx says, after a moment. 

“But what if that doesn’t work?” Alaska says, irritated by Jinkx’s attempt to reassure her. It feels like an argument, like she thinks Alaska doesn’t know what’s best. “I’m sitting out here because I  _ know _ that. But what if it doesn’t work, and we never see her again? Don’t you  _ care _ ?” she snaps out, and Jinkx pulls her hand away.

“What is  _ that  _ supposed to mean?” Jinkx says, her voice thick, and Alaska stares into the fire, anger and regret bubbling in her chest. “She’s wanted dead or alive, right? What does it matter that she’s dead?”

“ _ Fuck  _ you,” Alaska says lowly, but guilt twists within her, nausea rising to the occasion. If she regrets anything she’s said since arriving in Colorado, it’s that. Sharon felt immortal just a day ago, despite her injury and because of her resilience to it, but now she’s staring at the fact that Sharon may not survive this. 

Tears well up in her eyes, and she feels one fall as she finally looks at Jinkx. The other woman looks hurt, and worried, but it’s the anger there that makes the last of Alaska’s own go out. “I didn’t - Jinkx, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t think--”

“I know,” Jinkx says, her expression softening. “I shouldn’t have brought it up, not now, at least. I just - you said that Sharon might not--”

“My mother died like this,” Alaska says all in one breath. “Only we had a better doctor.”

“Don’t let Katya hear you,” Jinkx says, smiling slightly, but she touches Alaska’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

“She went into her room and never came out,” Alaska says, and then she takes another breath. “I never got to see her before she passed.”

There’s a certain comfort in knowing that she’ll never know if her mother had looked as bad as she does in her nightmares. Maybe she had died still beautiful, with dignity - at least as much as there is in disease. Maybe she had looked worse, and Alaska had been spared the pain.

Alaska had denied her father’s invitation to see her mother one last time, his warnings and the smell of antiseptic creating a fear so great within her that she had refused to even look into the room. Her father gave her an hour to change her mind. It didn’t matter - her mother passed thirty minutes later.

Alaska doesn’t want to make that mistake again.

“Sharon won’t--” Jinkx cuts herself off. “She’s going to be fine. She always is.”

Alaska gives her a weak smile, and she tries to find it in herself to believe her. 

They sit in silence for another few minutes, the cool breeze making them shiver slightly as they both stare at the embers of the fire. The sound of the tent flap opening has them both shooting to their feet again, and Katya emerges, looking drawn and pale.

“I need some water from the creek,” she says, and she points at Jinkx. “Jinkx, you help me.”

“I can help too,” Alaska says, stepping forwards, and Katya holds up a hand, smiling slightly. 

“I could use your arms as toothpicks. No, you get the fun job.”

Alaska frowns. “The fun job?”

“Sit with Sharon and make sure nothing happens. If something does, shout for us,” Katya walks past her to grab a pot and a metal bucket from next to the fire. She gives the bucket to Jinkx. “The water is to cool her down, and I can’t do much until that happens.”

Alaska moves to the tent without any other questions, only to hesitate right before pushing the flap aside. A strange fear pools in her stomach, shifting and irrational, and she can’t seem to bring herself to go in just yet.

What if Sharon is--

“What are you doing?” Katya snaps. “Get in there!”

Alaska ducks inside without a second thought.

The tent is warm, stuffy - Alaska’s breath catches at the sudden shift, the sense of illness crawling up her lungs. It’s dark, but a lantern burns on top of one of the crates, casting Sharon in a dim, flickering light. As Alaska sits down next to her, she can make out a frown of discomfort on her face, sweat beading at her temples.

The silence is oppressive.

“You’d better not die on me,” Alaska says after a moment, her voice low in an almost whisper. “Who’s going to protect me from Solomon? You still have a deal to uphold, and someone once told me you never break your word.”

Sharon’s eyebrow doesn’t even twitch, and Alaska suddenly has a hard time holding her tears at bay.

“You look like my mom,” she says. “Or at least I assume you do. I never got to see her when she was--” she cuts herself off, taking in a shaking breath. “This is already a little better. At least I can see you. At least I can--” She cuts herself off, touching Sharon’s hand and curling it into her own in silence. It’s clammy, and she does her best to warm it between her palms. She tries to ignore how limp it is.

“You’re - I thought I hated you,” Alaska whispers, even quieter. “I - clearly, I don’t.” She pauses for a moment, holding her breath and feeling like she’s just confessed one of her darkest secrets. Sharon doesn’t stir.

Abruptly, the whole thing feels ridiculous. “I mean, clearly,” Alaska snorts, glancing down at where she has Sharon’s hand between hers. “I’m holding your hand. What kind of woman does that with her kidnapper?” She laughs a little, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I think a week ago I would have run, right here and right now. You could have died and I would have laughed.” Her voice breaks on the last word, and fear curdles in her stomach. 

“I think you’ve changed something in me,” she whispers, and she squeezes her eyes shut against the confession, a raw and vulnerable feeling in her chest.  _ Or maybe you’ve just allowed me to be who I really am. _

She bites her tongue against those words. They aren’t true. They can’t be.

“Good,” Sharon says, and Alaska jumps, whipping her head up from their intertwining hands to look at Sharon’s face. Sharon smirks, her eyes still half lidded with exhaustion, but lucid.

“Whatever you heard--” Alaska starts, but Sharon squeezes her hand, startling her into silence.

“Don’t tell me it was a lie,” she says softly, face suddenly serious. “Because you’re… you’re changing something in me too.”

Alaska stares at her, the words striking a chord and making something warm spread through her chest. She tries her best to push it back down, but to no avail. “What could you possibly have to learn from me? How to be a civilized person? I didn’t think that was possible.”

Sharon smiles a little. “I’m learning how to be vulnerable again,” she says, closing her eyes. Her grip remains firm in Alaska’s. “With you I feel safe.”

“I don’t even know how to shoot a gun,” Alaska laughs, but the warmth in her chest is swelling, spilling throughout her entire body and sending goosebumps up her arms. “You -  _ you  _ make  _ me  _ feel safe.”

“There are other ways to be safe,” Sharon says softly, opening her eyes again, and Alaska finds herself at a loss for words.

She hasn’t ever felt this way before, and she doesn’t know what to do with the enormity of the feeling. She feels weightless - she feels like a string is attaching her to the woman lying in front of her, like Sharon is the one keeping her from flying away. Alaska wants to shorten the distance.

“Sharon,” she breathes out, and she reaches out to cup Sharon’s cheek. Sharon immediately wraps her hand around Alaska’s wrist, holding her there. Alaska feels affection burst within her, as well as a shining beam of hope at the cool skin beneath her palm.

“Sharon,” she says again, unable to help the slow smile from creeping across her face. “I think your fever broke.”

“I had a fever?” Sharon says, her eyes glittering with amusement, and Alaska leans down to--

“The fever is broken?” Katya asks, and Alaska shoots away from Sharon, flying to her feet and ignoring the confused look Sharon sends her.

“I - uh, I’m--” she stammers, a blush creeping up her neck and over her ears. Sharon ends up saving her, but she can’t bring herself to even glance at the other woman gratefully, too embarrassed of what she had been about to do just seconds before. Her heart beats quickly at the reminder, and she has to suck in a shaky breath as Sharon speaks.

“She’s no doctor, but I  _ am _ sweating like a pig in heat,” Sharon says, and Katya edges past Alaska to drop to her knees next to Sharon, feeling her forehead. Alaska steps away, into the background.

“It is,” Katya says, a huge grin splitting her face. “Thank god. Oh, thank god.” She grabs Sharon’s face between her hands and kisses her forehead grandly, her smile insane. “You lucky bitch.”

“Don’t call me ‘bitch’,” Sharon says as Katya clasps her hands.

“With the stress you have put me through, I’d say you deserve worse.”

“Did you say her fever was down?” Jinkx says, poking her head in and eyes lighting up when Katya nods. “Oh, thank  _ god _ .” She rushes in, kneeling next to Sharon’s other side and grasping her hand tightly. “You had me so  _ worried. _ ”

“I had enough melodrama with Alaska,” Sharon says dryly, but she lifts her other hand to cover Jinkx’s, smiling softly. “You had nothing to worry about.”

“Next time I’ll get the fever,” Jinkx tells her, unimpressed, “and then I can tell you that you had nothing to worry about. And please - you love melodrama.”

“Alaska,” Katya says, glancing behind her and holding out a rag. Alaska takes it, an unidentifiable feeling ballooning in her stomach. “Please, wet this in one of the buckets outside.”

Alaska rolls her lips between her teeth, reluctant to leave Sharon and reluctant to show it to anyone. 

“Alright,” she says, after a beat, and then she’s ducking out of the tent, the cool air like a slap in the face.

“ _ Fuck, _ ” she whispers harshly. She wants to go back in. She needs to see Sharon, to touch her and make sure she’s still real, still here. She hates herself for her need - it’s weak, and it’s  _ stupid.  _ But the need is still there.

It’s ironic, she thinks as she makes her way over to the buckets resting by the side of the tent, that she’s had so many moments alone with Sharon, and the one time she actually wants one, she can’t have it.

Irony has never been her favorite motif.

🌸

A week passes before Sharon is deemed ‘healed’ by Katya, and it’s enough time for Alaska to get over whatever fever of emotion had possessed her the night Sharon’s fever broke.

Sharon never brought up their conversation again, and Alaska had followed her lead, grateful for the silence on the subject. Emotions had been running high - Alaska had barely been able to think, much less say things that she truly meant. She would have said anything to get Sharon to live, and that had resulted in some weird confessions. And another almost kiss.

Again: emotions had been running high.

But no matter how hard Alaska tries to brush the night away, it sticks to her like glue, and her heart still beats a little faster when she lies down next to Sharon at night, or when Sharon still comes just a little too close to her when they’re out of the tent. She finds herself wanting to hold Sharon’s hand again, to reassure herself with the other woman’s solidity. She finds herself staring at Sharon’s mouth more than once, the ghost of her dream that first night in Sharon’s tent on her lips.

Something had shifted within her the moment she’d confessed her change to Sharon, and she resents it.

She’s been avoiding Sharon, at least the best that she can in a camp made up of only eight women, if only to save herself from falling further into this  _ thing  _ she’s feeling any more than she already has. It’s hard, however, when the object of her feelings seems to find her every other hour.

“Lasky,” Sharon says, sitting next to Alaska on the log she’s been on for the past few hours, nose deep in one of Jinkx’s novels. She pretends like her heart doesn’t lurch at the nickname. “The food supply is so bad, Katya’s letting me go hunting! Can you believe it?”

“I can,” Alaska says, pretending to still be reading even though her eyes have been glued on “ _ farm”  _ since the moment she sensed Sharon coming over. “And I care why?”

“Because you’re coming with me.”

Alaska looks up from  _ Northanger Abbey _ . “What? No.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t  _ make  _ me go with you, Sharon.”

“I can make you do whatever I want,” Sharon says staunchly, but there’s little force behind the words. “I thought you wanted to learn to shoot.”

Alaska hesitates. “I want to read,” she says after a moment. The reminder had served to bring forth the catastrophe that was the field in her memory, and she still feels a sick churning in her gut at the thought of what she had almost done.

“You need to learn to protect yourself,” Sharon starts, and Alaska raises an eyebrow.

“What’s the point of our deal if I have to protect myself anyway?”

Sharon’s eyebrows jump up. “After that fiasco with Jinkx’s pistol--?”

“That fiasco,” Alaska interrupts, irritation sparking in her chest, “is the reason I don’t want to shoot. I don’t have to shoot, and I won’t.”

“God forbid,” Sharon says, clearly annoyed. “We wouldn’t want you soiling your mind with the knowledge of how to aim a pistol.”

“God forbid,” Alaska agrees, and she opens her book again.

“I’m worried about you,” Sharon says, and Alaska frowns, glancing back up at her. 

“What?”

“I’m not invulnerable. Why do you think you needed to be the one shooting in the first place?”

Alaska rolls her lips between her teeth, silent. 

“I’ll protect you, Alaska - I keep my word, and even if you shoot like a goddamn gunslinger, I’ll shoot before you have to. But even with that, it might be better for you if you know how to shoot first.”

Alaska looks at Sharon, taking in the urgency in her eyes and the soft, serious pout of her lips. It’s another moment before she remembers to tear her eyes away.

“Alright,” she concedes, and Sharon’s bright grin almost makes it worth it. 

“We can take Cerrone - though I hope there’s no bad memories associated with him. You know, beca--”

“Fuck off.”

Sharon cackles, and Alaska’s chest swells at the sound. This is not a good sign, and it isn’t a good idea to be going out alone with Sharon, if she wants to kill her feelings.

But she  _ wants  _ to be alone with Sharon again, wants to give into the intense attraction that has been lingering between them since they met, and she has the perfect excuse for it.

Her temptations are getting easier and easier to give into, and she can’t quite bring herself to dislike it.

🌸

“Be careful with how you hold that - I love a good scar, but I’m not too eager to get another one just yet.”

“I’m not - I’m not  _ incompetent,  _ Sharon. I know how to point it away from you.”

“Then fucking point it away from me!”

Alaska huffs, frustration a seemingly permanent pressure in her chest as she turns from Sharon to the beer bottles they have lined up. Approximately none have been shattered in the hour they’ve been trying, the idea of actually hunting forgotten, and Alaska is close to giving up.

She fires again, and the sound of a bullet hitting a tree cracks through the forest loudly. No birds scatter - Alaska’s already scared them all off.

“ _ Damn  _ it!” she snaps, tempted to throw the gun to the ground in anger. “Why can’t I fucking  _ get _ this?”

“It takes time,” Sharon says from her position leaning against Cerrone, a bemused smirk on her face. “You won’t get it immediately.”

“We’ve been here an  _ hour,  _ I’ve had plenty of time,” Alaska shoots back heatedly. She aims again. The bullet hits the log the bottles rest on, and one of the bottles wobbles and falls over with the vibrations. Sharon claps.

“One down!”

“You’re close enough that I’m pretty sure I can shoot you with this,” Alaska threatens, and Sharon laughs.

“Here,” she says, walking over to Alaska. “Show me how you’re aiming.”

“Why don’t you just show me again,” Alaska says tiredly. “Clearly, I’m not doing it right.”

“Alright,” Sharon says, and then suddenly her hands are on Alaska’s biceps, her leather gloves catching on the cotton of Alaska’s sleeve. “Stick your arms straight out in front of you.” She pushes Alaska’s arms up and out, running her hands down her arms to curl Alaska’s fingers over the trigger, cupping Alaska’s hands with her own. 

“I didn’t mean ‘act as my puppeteer’,” Alaska says quietly, trying not to blush. 

“Well, just watching me do it didn’t help,” Sharon says, hand still resting on Alaska’s wrists. Her tone is serious, but the corner of her mouth is curving upwards, a pleased gleam in her eyes. “Clearly, you need a heavier hand.”

The blush succeeds in crawling across her cheeks. “Okay,” Alaska says, ignoring Sharon’s comment and the way it makes her stomach flutter. She takes a deep breath, willing her heartbeat to slow down. It doesn’t work. “And now what?”

“Now...” Sharon trails off, stepping behind Alaska and pressing so close her breath ghosts along the side of Alaska’s face, her chin nearly resting on her shoulder. A hand comes to rest on Alaska’s hip, steadying her, and Alaska tries not to let her breath catch. Sharon’s warmth is overwhelming, and the strength that Alaska can feel in just Sharon’s hands is less frightening than it is safe.

She has to fight not to just relax back into the other woman, Sharon’s presence the only thing she can focus on - the only thing she wants to feel. She bites the inside of her cheek to bring herself out of it, focusing instead on the pain.

“Now,” Sharon says again, voice softer now that she’s close, “you line up the top of the barrel with where you want to hit the bottle. Take a breath. Shoot on the exhale.”

Alaska sucks in a deep breath, attempting to clear her head. Sharon’s hand over her hip isn’t helping.

She lines up the revolver, and she fires. 

The glass shatters, and Alaska feels a spike of excitement in her chest, grinning.

“ _ There, _ ” Sharon says, and she steps away from Alaska to go investigate the damage. It suddenly feels like Alaska is missing some part of herself, her back cold now that Sharon isn’t pressed up against it, and it dampens the pride that’s rising in her chest. She shivers, and glares as Sharon’s back. She’s trying to get over this - this  _ feeling,  _ but it feels impossible with Sharon so close all the time.

She finds herself giving into it far too quickly once again.

“You said I made you feel safe,” she says quietly, as Sharon picks up a shard of green glass. She looks at Alaska through it, holding it over her eye like a monocle. 

“Hm?”

“You said I made you feel safe,” Alaska says, raising her voice. “Right when your fever broke.” Sharon visibly pauses for a moment, expression stilling.

“I don’t remember,” she says after a beat, tossing the shard back into the grass and straightening up from where she’d crouched. She looks at Alaska steadily, expression unreadable. 

The fact that she doesn’t have a tell is a tell in and of itself.

Alaska raises an eyebrow. “That sounds likely.”

“I had a fever, Alaska,” Sharon says, raising an eyebrow in return. “I don’t remember.”

Alaska bites her lip, her heart pounding. Sharon doesn’t seem like she would deny this - she’s been tempting Alaska the entire time, she’d said “ _ you’re the only thing more beautiful than this _ ”, her eyes had been nothing but vulnerable when she’d confessed to Alaska that she hadn’t been just that for a long time. 

Sharon, Alaska is realizing, has worked her way into her heart.

It’s frightening.

“What’s the point of saying I’m teaching you to be vulnerable when you can’t even admit you said it?” Alaska asks, frustrated. 

“What’s the point of being vulnerable when the other person pretends you don’t exist after you say it?” Sharon snaps back, and guilt shoots through Alaska like an arrow. So Sharon  _ had _ noticed her avoidance - maybe even purposefully sabatoged it. Alaska’s chest warms at the thought, that Sharon might have missed her. 

“Something jog your memory?” Alaska asks, not quite able to keep her pleasure out of her tone, and Sharon glares at her.

“Sure. I also remember you saying - you said I’d changed you. What happened to that?”

Alaska feels put on the spot, like a frightened deer - Sharon’s immediate denial suddenly makes a lot more sense. Alaska bites back her own denial, that she would have said anything as long as Sharon lived, but even saying that peels away a layer of her defense, shows too much vulnerability. She doesn’t think Sharon even realizes how small of a corner she’s put Alaska in.

“Well?” Sharon asks impatiently, and Alaska is abruptly aware of how long they’d been standing in silence.

“I asked you first,” she says petulantly, and Sharon’s lips tighten.

“Exactly,” she says. “I’m not the one who brought it up.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“It’s exactly how it works.”

“I can wait here all day,” Alaska says, stubborn. She will not be the first one to crack. 

Sharon deflates, something disappointed flickering across her face. Alaska feels a pang at the sight of it. “Well, I can’t,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“What?”

“Let’s just go,” Sharon says, walking over to Cerrone. “This is pointless.” Alaska catches her wrist as she passes, her heart lurching at the prospect of leaving this unfinished.

“Stop,” she says, and Sharon looks at her, expression unreadable.

“I’m not going to--”

“Hold  _ on, _ ” Alaska says, formulating her thoughts. She thinks she understands Sharon’s reluctance - it’s hard for her to be vulnerable, but she imagines it’s even harder when the woman she wants to be vulnerable with won’t give her anything in return. Alaska needs to extend her hand first - offer something before she can take any more.

Alaska needs to make a deal.

She sucks in a long breath. “You  _ have  _ changed something in me,” she starts, and Sharon’s eyebrows jump up in surprise, her mouth slightly opening. “I - I mean  _ look  _ at me.” She takes her hand off of Sharon and motions to herself, to the gun at her hip. “I wouldn’t have touched this gun that first night. I wouldn’t have asked to learn to shoot, and I wouldn’t be asking to know you.”

Sharon’s eyes soften. “Alaska--”

“And it - it runs deeper than that. I--” Alaska takes a deep breath, stumbling over her words and close to tears. “I almost don’t want to go back to New York. There’s - I can  _ breathe  _ here.” 

There’s a long pause in the conversation, and Alaska can hear the birds beginning to chirp again, the warm summer breeze rustling the pines and the underbrush. Evening light casts long shadows across Sharon’s face as she looks at Alaska, her lips curved in the barest of smiles.

“I feel safe with you,” she says, stepping closer, “because you have the pieces I’m missing. You’re cautious. You’re sneaky. You’re so expressive, and you don’t even know it. You’re the decision I don’t even think to make.” She stops just inches away, her eyes never straying from Alaska’s. She tilts her hat up, and her eyes dart to Alaska’s lips. Alaska leans forward, spellbound. “Before this camp, this life, I couldn’t tell anyone anything. I feel like I could tell you  _ everything _ .”

“Tell me a secret, then,” Alaska says softly, her heart pounding. Only one thing is running through her mind:  _ Sharon.  _ “The biggest one you kept.”

Sharon smirks. “The biggest one I kept would have been this.”

She leans in, and she captures Alaska’s mouth in a soft kiss.

Alaska’s brain short circuits, and all she feels is an overwhelming sense of  _ finally. _

Sharon cups Alaska’s cheeks, her leather gloves soft against her skin and surprisingly gentle. Alaska buries her hands in Sharon’s hair, running her fingers through it, unable to stop herself from moaning softly into their kiss, her belly warm and fluttering. She can smell the pine trees and the earth, and she drinks them in, Sharon’s warmth underneath her hands and her lips.

They part for a moment, Sharon starting to smile too much to sustain any more kissing, and Alaska laughs a little, happiness overriding any regret she might have felt otherwise. “This is why I avoided you all week.”

“Don’t act like you can resist my charm,” Sharon says, smug, and then they’re kissing again.

Alaska is sure she’ll have the time to regret this later, but for now, all she can feel is happiness and a relief that traces back eleven years.

🌸

Alaska does have the time to regret it later, and the bite of it is sharp.

Kissing Sharon had been a mistake.

A comforting, wonderful,  _ natural _ mistake that still makes her heart flutter and her chest swell with joy, but still a mistake.

She can’t stay here at the camp, she can’t live this life, and she can’t fall for Sharon, if she hasn’t already. It isn’t an  _ option. _

She hadn’t lied to Sharon in the forest - she doesn’t want to return to New York, back to its suffocation and responsibilities and invasive society. But she still has to. She has duties to her father, and to her mother. She doesn’t stop being a daughter just because she’s found a place full of women who have.

For god’s sake, her stomach still churns at the memory of pointing the revolver at the man on the ridge. She can’t shoot to-- she can’t do what’s necessary to stay, to live this life. She doesn’t belong here.

As she stares into the fire, however, listening to the women of the camp laugh and eat with each other, she finds herself longing to stay. She feels detached from them, like an outsider. It’s because she is. 

She wishes she wasn’t.

“Are you okay?”

Alaska jumps at the sound of Sharon’s voice, whipping her head around to stare at the other woman, who has a slight frown on her face.

“Jesus,” she says, heart still pounding. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“When do I not?” Sharon asks drily, and Alaska lets out a snort.

“You should try to give me a break some time.”

“Mhm,” Sharon says, tilting her head, her eyes crinkling. “Maybe you and Jinkx could take turns.”

“Funny,” Alaska says. “I don’t think Jinkx has gotten a break since she met you.”

“She might now,” Sharon says, and the insinuation feels like a slap in the face. They’d fallen so easily into conversation that she’d forgotten -

“I can’t stay here,” she blurts out, and Sharon stares at her, shocked. 

“What?”

“I--” Alaska cuts herself off, suddenly unable to meet Sharon’s eyes. She looks into the fire instead, a pit of dread already yawning in her chest. “I should be honest with you.”

“What?” Sharon asks again, but now, her voice is flat. “Let me guess: you don’t like women?”

Alaska laughs even as the question startles her, her instinctive need to deny it on the tip of her tongue. “No,” she says instead, and she thinks it’s the closest she’s going to come to admitting it out loud. “But I - I don’t belong here.”

“Of course you belong here,” Sharon says, derisively. “You certainly don’t belong in New York.”

“No, I don’t,” Alaska says, and she can’t help the way her voice wobbles. “I don’t belong anywhere, it feels like. But I still have to go back.”

“ _ Why _ ?” Sharon sounds exasperated, something like worry and anger edging into her tone. “For your father? So you can get him more money to stack onto his pile?”

“I have a duty--”

“ _ Fuck  _ duty!” Sharon exclaims, and Alaska flinches at the sudden volume. “Sorry,” Sharon says immediately, and she touches Alaska’s shoulder. It takes all of her willpower not to lean into it.

“You don’t understand,” Alaska whispers, tears in her eyes. She’s too embarrassed to even wipe them away, sick of being so vulnerable and weak in front of this woman. She wants to be strong for her, but she can’t. It’s just further proof that she isn’t suited for this, no matter what Sharon says. “My father--”

“I understand more than you think,” Sharon interrupts, and Alaska turns to look at her, irritation snapping in her chest.

“Are you willing to share?” she asks, and Sharon falls silent, something like guilt flickering across her face. “That’s what I thought,” Alaska says, even as disappointment sinks like a lead weight into her stomach. “I can’t -- I can’t stay for someone who doesn’t even trust me, Sharon.”

“But I can’t be the reason you stay,” Sharon says, grabbing Alaska’s hand. Alaska lets her. “This life - it’s something you have to want. And you  _ want  _ it.”

“I never said that,” Alaska says, breath quickening and feeling exposed. “I--”

“I can see it in your eyes,” Sharon says, her eyes darting all over Alaska’s face, something urgent and determined filling her expression. “You don’t have to say it. Not like you would, anyway.”

“Because I  _ can’t _ say it,” Alaska snaps. “You think you know me, but you have--” she’s tripping over her words, and it’s only making her more frustrated. “I don’t  _ belong  _ here, Sharon. I don’t  _ get  _ to want it. I can’t even - I can’t  _ approve _ of what you do here, much less do it myself. I don’t -- I can handle getting married-” she ignores the way Sharon’s hand suddenly tightens in hers, “-and pretending to be happy. I’ve been doing it my whole life.”

“You’re just scared.”

“No, I’m just  _ realistic. _ ”

“You think this isn’t real?” Sharon says, eyes wide and brows furrowed.

“Not for me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sharon snaps, and Alaska shrugs, willing her tears back down. 

“I’ve been called worse,” she says, and a flicker of hurt and surprise moves across Sharon’s face.

“I didn’t--”

“I know,” Alaska says, “but it’s still true.”

They fall quiet, and Alaska has just enough time to register how alone they are before Sharon breaks the silence.

“There’s a robbery tomorrow,” Sharon says suddenly. “Come with us.”

Alaska frowns. “Sharon--”

“Think of it as a tester,” Sharon barrels ahead, ignoring Alaska’s protest. “To see if you can handle it.”

“I can’t,” Alaska says, although she’s tempted. The desire makes her stomach twist with preemptive guilt. “Innocent people? I can’t do that. You can’t ask me to do that.”

“Since when have wealthy people ever been innocent?”

“ _ I’m  _ wealthy,” Alaska says, and Sharon raises an eyebrow.

“Your point?”

They stare at each other for a moment, Sharon clearly nowhere near backing down, and Alaska can feel herself growing used to the idea. She allows herself to think it through: if she can’t handle it, Sharon will be forced to recognize how much this isn’t going to work. And if she can - well. She’ll cross that bridge later.

If Alaska keeps her hopes low, the idea isn’t a bad one.

“No killing,” Alaska says, finally giving in and looking Sharon in the eyes. “I can’t - just, no killing.”

Sharon grins sharply. “I’ve never killed a man in my life.”

It’s clearly a lie, but Alaska can’t bring herself to care. She’s already almost lost this woman once - she doesn’t want to be the reason she loses her again, not when they’ve just started something new.

If wanting Sharon is breaking the law, why does it matter if she breaks a few more?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6xuTbkNvtHC6By0k4D66gP?si=PoH3XXRWRyaC8HU28YS7nw
> 
> tumblr: @narcoleptic-drag-queen


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They say I killed six or seven men for snoring. It ain’t true. I only killed one man for snoring.” — John Wesley Hardin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was SO FUN to write!!!!! I hope you guys have as much fun reading this as I did writing ;)
> 
> Also, the rating changed.... hm, I wonder why

Alaska wakes up alone.

It’s still dark outside, the air cold from the lack of sunlight, and she stares at Sharon’s empty pillow for a long moment before she finally registers the low voices speaking just outside the tent. They’re easily recognizable as Jinkx and Sharon, and there’s a sense of urgency in them that has Alaska suddenly wide awake.

She sits up, her heart beating a little faster and listening closely. She can’t distinguish any words, but if she strains her ears, she can parse out a few - although, between the locusts and her own breathing, she’s going to have to get closer to actually understand anything.

She thinks briefly about just going out to join them, but something tells her that she’s not meant to hear. The idea makes her irritated, the lack of trust Sharon has in her once again showing its ugly face, and she’s immediately resolved to eavesdrop.

If Sharon thinks she can handle this life, then why even bother hiding something about it?

She gets up into a crouch and moves towards the entrance of the tent, holding her breath. As she stares at the line of dim moonlight leaking through the crack in the entrance, the cool breeze making it shift with the movement of the canvas, she gets a strange sense of deja vu. It’s not until she hears the name ‘Solomon’ that she realizes it’s because this is how she learned about this entire mess in the first place.

“She saw them outside Coady?”

“That’s what she said.”

Sharon sighs. “I can’t believe I thought we had the advantage.”

Jinkx snorts. “I think we still have it, Sharon. We know everything there is to know about them - they found the town we’re an hour away from.”

“An hour is still too close,” Sharon says, and Alaska imagines that she’s pinching the bridge of her nose in agitation. “With our luck–”

“With our luck, we got a map to their entire escape plan,” Jinkx interrupts, her voice soothing. “We’ll get to them first. We just have to get the supplies first.”

“The carriage tomorrow should have enough money,” Sharon says, thinking out loud. “With Roxxxy and Alaska, we should be able to catch it and strip it quickly enough.”

“And you’re sure about bringing Alaska?” Jinkx asks, amused.

There’s a pause. “Well, no,” Sharon admits, and Jinkx laughs. Alaska can’t blame her for her uncertainty, but that doesn’t stop the little pinch of hurt that twists in her chest. “But she needs to come.”

“Why?” Jinkx asks. “So she can speak their language?”

“Hopefully she won’t talk at all,” Sharon laughs. “Much less speak the language of old money. It’d be too suspicious.”

“Bringing _Alaska_ seems too suspicious,” Jinkx points out. “Can she even handle it?”

“Well,” Sharon says, and Alaska can imagine the way her eyes roll up to the sky. “That may or may not be the point.”

“You’re using the one chance at money we have as a _test_ _trial?_ ” Jinkx cries, voice growing a little loud. Sharon shushes her.

“She threatened to leave! What was I supposed to do?” she whispers harshly.

“I thought she wanted our protection?”

“Well - _after_ that,” Sharon says. “She said she didn’t belong here.” Alaska’s heart stops at the reference to that evening, her own panicked blabbering echoing in her ears. She flushes, embarrassed.

“And you think she does,” Jinkx finishes, her voice soft.

“I know she does. She wants this, Jinkxie, she’s got the spirit for it, the will. She just needs to harden her stomach a little.”

“But not her heart?”

There’s a pause. “What?”

“You’ve always taken girls in, Shar, but you’ve never tried to force them into it. Are you–”

“I’m not _forcing_ her, Jinkx. _Jesus_. I just - she wants this, and I sure as hell won’t let her leave without trying for it first.”

“And that’s the only reason why this is happening? Because she wants it?”

“Because I care about her,” Sharon says, and Alaska’s heartbeat increases tenfold, her chest warming even as her palms break out into a sweat.

“Did something happen between you two?” Jinkx asks after a moment. “You’ve been weird all day and so has she.”

“I–” Sharon cuts herself off. “We kissed.”

“Holy shit,” Jinkx says, and Alaska can’t tell if she’s pleased or concerned. “When?”

“When I took her out shooting. It was - I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

 _Neither have I,_ Alaska wants to say. She feels weightless, some strange mixture of elation and dread swirling in her stomach. Kissing Sharon had been the best thing she’d felt in her life, the press of her lips and her hands on her face feeling so safe and natural and _right._ But the nagging voice in her head saying it wasn’t supposed to feel like that won’t leave her alone, and she finds her stomach still sinking with guilt when she longs to hold Sharon’s hand in hers.

“Sharon,” Jinkx starts, but Sharon cuts her off.

“But she regrets it. I think it’s because she thinks she can’t stay, but if it isn’t–” her voice breaks a little, and Alaska frowns, surprised. Sharon recovers so quickly, however, that it has Alaska wondering if it even happened. “If it isn’t,” she continues, voice stronger, “I’ll still try to get her to stay. Because she wants this, and I care.”

Alaska is stunned. Her heart sinks in her chest, the need to cry suddenly present and pressing at the backs of her eyes, emotion suddenly overwhelming her. She doesn’t know what to do with herself. She wants Sharon’s care, she wants to stay, she wants to stay for Sharon and these women, and she wants the freedom to love and to live.

She can’t. She _shouldn’t._ But she does.

“I doubt it isn’t,” Jinkx whispers, and Alaska leans forward in a vain attempt to hear her better, worried that she’ll miss even a single word, and breathing quickly. “You should get some sleep, Shaz.”

“Fine,” Sharon sighs, and there’s a stomping sound as she stamps out her cigarette. “See you in the morning.”

“Mhm,” Jinkx hums, and footsteps start making their way towards the tent.

It’s not until they’re halfway there that Alaska remembers that Sharon probably won’t take kindly to being eavesdropped on.

She flings herself onto her sleeping palette, throwing a blanket over herself and arranging herself in what she thinks a deep sleep looks like. She shuts her eyes, and the sound of Sharon coming into the tent has her nearly opening them again instinctively, her pulse pounding in her ears.

She listens as Sharon pulls off her boots and dumps her hat and jacket over one of the crates, sighing. There’s a beat of silence.

“Jesus,” Sharon whispers, and Alaska tries not to tense with surprise. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?”

 _I have no idea,_ Alaska thinks as Sharon lies down, tossing and turning for a few minutes in an attempt to find a comfortable position. Alaska finds herself tempted to offer herself as an alternative pillow.

_I have no goddamn idea._

🌸

Sharon has to shake Alaska awake the next morning, and Alaska barely has the time to open her eyes before Sharon greets her with, “You need some pants.”

“What?” Alaska asks, covering her eyes and groaning. “It can’t be time yet.”

Something soft hits her chest, and she blinks her eyes open to find a pair of tan pants crumpled on top of her.

“Put these on,” Sharon says, and Alaska looks up at her. She looks anxious. “We’re already a half hour behind schedule, so I’d appreciate it if you picked up the pace.”

Alaska glances at the entrance, where a sliver of pale light can be seen through the cracks. “It’s barely morning!”

“And we were supposed to get up at dawn,” Sharon tells her, and Alaska frowns, still a little disoriented and trying not to get irritated. Waking up early has never been a great talent of hers, but she’ll be damned when she admits that to Sharon.

“So why didn’t we?” she asks, sitting up. The pants fall into her lap, and she picks them up. “And what’s with these?”

“I overslept,” Sharon admits. “It’s the last time I’ll trust Willam with waking me up.”

“That sounds like a bad idea,” Alaska says drily, and Sharon groans.

“She had the last watch - there wasn’t much of a choice.”

Alaska hums, and she raises the pants again. “And these?”

“Robbing a carriage in a skirt isn’t much fun,” Sharon tells her, and Alaska’s heart skips a beat at the reminder.

“Right,” she says, mind whirling with questions and fantasies. How are they going to do this? Is she going to have to hurt somebody? Who are they robbing? Will she be shooting?

Is she going to fuck it all up?

“Hey,” Sharon says, jerking Alaska out of her thoughts. Her voice is softer, and she looks a little concerned. “Are you going to be okay?”

Alaska’s breath catches at the undercurrent of care in her tone, what she’d overheard last night fresh in her mind.

_I’ll still try to get her to stay. Because she wants this, and I care._

Resolution steels in her gut, the urge to make Sharon happy swelling in her chest. Even if this doesn’t work out, she needs Sharon to know that she wanted it to. “I’m ready,” she says, meeting Sharon’s gaze confidently. “I can handle myself.”

Sharon looks surprised, but there’s a warm glint of pleasure in her eye that has Alaska puffing up a little with pride. “Good,” Sharon says, smirking slowly. “Glad to hear it.”

“Good,” Alaska says, and there’s a short moment in which they simply smile at each other, Sharon’s eyes filled with something like content. A shout from the outside has them snapping out of it, and Alaska jerks her gaze down to her lap, taking a deep breath. The room feels suddenly too hot despite the breeze coming in through the entrance, and she’s grateful when Sharon starts ducking out to leave.

“Meet me at the firepit when you’re done - I’ll tell you and Roxxxy what we’re going to do over some of Jinkx’s shitty coffee.”

Alaska can’t help the snort she lets out at the small dig. “Alright.”

And with that, Sharon leaves, and Alaska is left to contemplate the fact that she is falling hard and fast for an outlaw.

It doesn’t feel new - it feels like something she’s known for a while now, even if she hadn’t realized it. It was that smile that did it - Sharon had looked so content, kind, _happy._ Alaska had felt those feelings mirrored within herself, and everything clicked.

It isn’t shocking, but her heart still sinks, frustration bubbling up in her chest. Why can’t anything be _fair_?

She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The situation is fucked - she’s going to get hurt, and so will Sharon. Strangely enough, it’s the latter factor that’s responsible for most of her anger.

It’s just more proof of how fucked she’s going to be if this doesn’t work out.

🌸

They leave an hour later, Sharon leading Alaska and Roxxxy down the narrow path that Alaska has seen only once before, and Alaska is _excited._

The pants fit great - she hadn’t expected them to feel so freeing, and she’d practically pranced out of the tent, feeling strangely lightweight and agile. She’s certain she’d looked ridiculous, her struggle with ball dances establishing her as uncoordinated at best, but it hadn’t stopped her from kicking her legs out a few times on her way down to the fire pit.

Sharon had openly stared, a slight smirk curving her parted lips, and Alaska had flushed with pleasure. It was payback for those first few flustered moments at the stables, and she’d sat down next to Sharon with a confidence that she hadn’t had before, willing to do anything to get Sharon to look at her like that again.

She’d been given a small dusty Palomino named Peaches, and she’s gentler than Poundcake, taking Alaska’s commands with ease and trotting next to Roxxxy’s chestnut without hesitation. Alaska loves her.

They’re two hours out when Sharon starts slowing down, pulling off of the road they’d been following and up a hill, where a small overlook hangs over the path. Alaska and Roxxxy follow closely, and Alaska’s heart starts beating as they stop on the overhang, lingering near the small clump of trees that crowns the top of the hill.

“Remember the plan?” Sharon asks them, turning Cerrone around so that they can see her face.

“You ride ahead,” Roxxxy says, “and Alaska and I follow without being seen.”

“Right,” Sharon says. “Wait until I have everyone decently distracted before you come up to the back. And the signal?”

“I’ll flash the mirror,” Alaska says, rolling her eyes.

“Jesus, fuck. I’m sorry, Alaska,” Sharon says for probably the fourth time, and she sounds a little irritated, “but it isn’t a good idea for you to be close to the robbery. You’re brand new.”

“And the point of me coming was to see how I handle myself,” Alaska shoots back, and Sharon levels her with an unimpressed stare.

“One beer bottle and suddenly you get cocky,” Sharon says dryly, and Alaska’s face heats up.

“We’re not _shooting_ anyone, Jesus. Let me help Roxxxy with robbing the trunk - more hands make a lighter burden.”

“Are you quoting something at me?” Sharon asks, aghast, and this time it’s Alaska’s turn to stare.

“It’s a proverb. Do you know what a proverb is, Sharon?”

“Of course I–”

“The carriage,” Roxxxy interrupts sharply, and all three women whip their heads towards the road, where a small black dot can be seen appearing over the crest of a hill.

“Alright,” Sharon says, turning back towards them and with a tone that says _don’t you dare fuck around._ “We wait until it’s just past us. I’ll race around and pretend like I’m catching up to them. Make sure you keep your distance when you start to follow. Got it?”

Alaska and Roxxxy nod silently. Sharon smirks suddenly, looking more alive than Alaska’s ever seen her.

“Let’s rob these rich bastards,” she says, and she tips her hat down low before egging Cerrone into a gallop, racing past Roxxxy down the hill.

Alaska glances at Roxxxy, her heart in her throat and a mix of excitement and anxiety making her breathe faster. Roxxxy smirks.

“Just follow my lead,” she says, clearly enjoying being in charge, and she pulls up her bandana so that it covers her mouth and nose, pulling her hat down low. Alaska rolls her eyes, but copies her, tugging Katya’s borrowed wide brim over her brow.

It makes her feel powerful - mysterious, even. It sends a strange thrill through her, and as Roxxxy begins racing down the hill, she doesn’t hesitate to follow, Peaches’s head just slightly behind Rigby’s.

They slow once the carriage is just within sight, trotting as they watch Sharon pull up right next to the window, tipping her hat and saying something that Alaska can’t even hear a whisper of.

It’s another moment before the carriage stops, Sharon grinning widely. Two small heads poke out near the front, the children enraptured by whatever Sharon is saying, and it’s safe to presume that the adults are sitting in the seat with its back turned to the trunk.

They watch for a few minutes, the children smiling and squirming and an adult hand reaching out to shake Sharon’s, and Sharon tosses her hair over her shoulder, dark curls bouncing with the motion.

“That’s the signal,” Roxxxy says. “You ready for this?”

“I have the mirror in my hand, yes,” Alaska deadpans, and Roxxxy grins, sliding off of Rigby and landing in the dirt with a soft thump.

“Wait to flash it until I’m back,” she tells her, and Alaska raises an eyebrow.

“Thanks for explaining,” she says, and Roxxxy winks.

“You’re welcome!” And with that, she lowers herself to the ground in a crouch, and starts creeping up towards the back of the carriage.

It seems for a moment all Alaska can hear is her heartbeat as Roxxxy finally reaches the trunk, popping open the gate with ease and reaching towards the heavy chest that sits right behind it.

Alaska glances behind her, worried. Nothing yet.

She looks back to find Roxxxy jiggling the lock on the chest, and she turns to look at Alaska with a worried expression, her eyes wide. Alaska’s heart drops at the sight.

Roxxxy mouths something at her, but Alaska can’t see very well.

 _‘What?_ ’ she mouths back, shrugging to show her confusion. Roxxxy stills for a moment, thinking, before she starts waving Alaska towards her, mouthing what is now clearly a ‘ _help me’._

“Fuck,” Alaska says, and she hesitates. This is what she wanted, but now that it’s happening it feels like a mistake to leave her post. She shakes her head ‘no’.

She can feel Roxxxy’s glare even from fifty feet away. Her motions get more urgent, and she can tell that Sharon is losing the kids’ attention, one’s head having retreated back into the carriage. Time is ticking away, and the last thing Alaska needs is to be blamed for the mission going upside down because she didn’t help Roxxxy even after she’d begged to do just that.

“ _Fuck,_ ” she says again, but she swings down from Peaches, giving her a soft pat before scurrying over to Roxxxy, crouched low. When she stops, she’s certain she can literally feel her blood pumping through her veins with the amount of adrenaline coursing through her.

“What?” she whispers, and Roxxxy holds out a hand.

“I need one of your pins.”

Alaska stares at her, eyes wide and panicked anger welling up in her chest. “You didn’t bring a fucking _lockpick_?”

“Just give me a pin,” Roxxxy hisses through gritted teeth, and Alaska pulls one out of her hair, slapping it into Roxxxy’s palm.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Alaska whispers, watching as Roxxxy shoves the pin into the lock and starts wiggling it around. “You’d better fucking know how to pick a l–”

“Have you always cursed like this?” Roxxxy says, and Alaska glares.

“Only when my _life_ is at risk!”

“We’re fine,” Roxxxy says, but the panic in her voice betrays her. “Sharon’s got it– _finally._ ”

The lock pops open with a small ‘click’, and Roxxxy takes it out and tosses it to the ground, lifting up the lid as little as possible, wary of drawing too much attention.

“Start grabbing as much as you can,” Roxxxy instructs, plunging her arms into the chest, and Alaska follows her lead.

She nearly gasps when she hits paper. It feels like there’s over fifty stacks of bills in the chest, and the one she pulls out looks like it’s worth about one hundred dollars. She stares at Roxxxy in astonishment.

“Who travels around with this kind of money?”

Roxxxy shrugs, shoving her own stack into her jacket. “Bankers? Sharon mentioned something about a big Chicago bank a few days ago.”

Alaska shakes her head. “Jesus. I don’t think even my–”

A gunshot interrupts her, echoing loudly.

Alaska’s blood instantly runs cold.

“What the fuck?” Roxxxy snaps, drawing her gun and standing. Alaska stands with her, heart pounding, looking around frantically.

There are what look like five men speeding towards them from the West, shouting incoherently and firing wildly into the air. As they approach, they begin to split apart, and Alaska knows that they’re aiming to surround them.

“Stop staring at them and draw your gun!” Roxxxy shouts at her, and Alaska jumps, hand flying to her waistband only to find nothing there. Her heart stops, but Roxxxy’s next shout helps her there as well: “Are you stupid? It’s in your holster!”

Alaska fumbles for the holster at her thigh, listening to the family in the carriage scream as the riders draw nearer. Just as she draws her gun, shakily aiming towards the rider heading straight towards them, the father shouts, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Ride, goddamnit, _ride!_ ”

The carriage takes off, jolting into motion so quickly that the chest and a few other items tumble out of the back, landing with the sound of wood splintering apart. The sound of it jolts Alaska into action - she races to Peaches without a second thought, the sound of guns still echoing around them, and she can hear Roxxxy running right on her heels.

“Fuck,” Roxxxy says, as they both swing up onto their horses. “At least we still have the money.”

Alaska can’t bring herself to care about the money, not when there’s a high possibility that she or Sharon – _Sharon._

Her heart drops into her chest. “Sharon, where’s–?” She cuts herself off, spotting Sharon not far from where she’d been earlier, and she eggs Peaches towards her without hesitation.

“What the hell is going on?” she shouts, slowing down so that she’s at Sharon’s side. Sharon’s frowning, but she isn’t shooting, despite the long rifle in her hands. Alaska follows her gaze - three of the riders have grouped together again, heading straight towards Sharon. When she glances behind her, Alaska sees the other two coming up on the rear. None of them are firing.

Why the _hell_ isn’t anyone shooting?

“Why aren’t you shooting?” Roxxxy hisses from Sharon’s other side, evidently having followed Alaska there.

“Because they aren’t,” Sharon says simply, though her grip tightens on her rifle. “They want something, and it isn’t the money. I’m curious.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Roxxxy asks.

“Because we’d be dead if they did.”

Alaska looks back towards the riders to find them close enough that she can see their faces - one, she realizes, is a woman.

She’s tiny on her gigantic Percheron, a dark braid swinging behind her as she slows down in front of them, a sharp grin and even sharper eyebrows on her face. She’s flanked by two men, one younger with a dirt-streaked face and the other older, both with scraggly beards. “Looks like someone beat us to the chase, boys,” the woman says as they stop in front of them. She doesn’t even glance at Roxxxy when she aims her revolver at her face, her eyes clearly only for Sharon. It makes Alaska angry, and her own grip tightens around her gun. “And it’s none other than Sharon Needles.”

“Phi Phi O’Hara,” Sharon says, voice cool. She’s smirking, but it has a dangerous air about it. “Didn’t expect to see Solomon’s lapdog without her master.”

“It looks like you’ve got one of your own,” Phi Phi says, glancing pointedly at Roxxxy. “Tell her to stand down.”

“You really expect me to do that?” Sharon asks, and Phi Phi glares.

“We have the upperhand, Sharon!” she snaps, and Alaska jumps a little at the sudden tone shift. Sharon doesn’t look surprised. “Tell your dog to lower the gun!”

“ _Don’t_ call her a dog,” Sharon shoots back. “And there has to be a better reason to listen to you than ‘because I said so’.”

Phi Phi raises an eyebrow. “Fine,” she bites out. “We didn’t come here for the cash–”

“Unlikely,” Sharon mutters, and Phi Phi scowls.

“Do you want to hear the reason or not?”

There’s a beat of silence, before Sharon begrudgingly says, “Continue.”

Alaska glances at her, surprised. She’s never seen Sharon on the defensive before, and it’s clearly getting under her skin, Phi Phi’s abrasiveness notwithstanding. The glare on her face is without a smirk, any amusement gone from her expression. She’s taking this seriously, and that makes Alaska very, very afraid.

“Solomon wants to make a peace deal,” Phi Phi says. “He’s tired of fighting.”

Alaska quickly turns to look at Sharon, surprised. A peace treaty would be beneficial to everyone - no blood spilt, no threat hanging over their heads. Alaska wouldn’t have to live in fear for acting as an accidental spy. She’s just starting to warm to the idea when Sharon quickly shuts it down.

“No,” Sharon says immediately. “That’s not happening.”

“Why not?” Alaska asks, frowning, and Sharon glares at her.

“I don’t trust them,” she says, and she turns to Phi Phi. “I don’t trust _you._ This is clearly some sort of set up.”

Phi Phi looks furious. “How dare you–”

“You can tell Solomon to fuck off,” Sharon says heatedly, fury etched into the arch of her eyebrows.

“He says he’s sorry fo–”

“How _fucking_ dare you bring that up,” Sharon interrupts, her voice suddenly calm, angry in a way that yelling never gets across. Alaska finds herself freezing at the sound of it. “Leave. Before I shoot you.”

“We’re not leaving,” Phi Phi says stubbornly, and there’s a brief moment that feels like the calm before the storm.

“Fine,” Sharon says. Then, she shoots the young man to the right.

Everything erupts into chaos.

The horses all buck out of fright, fleeing away from the sudden noise as their riders struggle to regain control. Shouts and more gunshots fill the air, and Alaska’s adrenaline goes into overdrive, yanking at Peaches’s reins with more strength than she thought she had.

“ _Shit_!” Alaska grits out as Peaches rears back, forcing Alaska to hold on for dear life. As she manages to get the horse back under control, twisting the reins and forcing her to turn to the side a little, she looks up to see that Phi Phi’s gang has scattered, each trying to pull their horses back to the scene, yelling angrily over the horses’ frantic neighing.

She looks for Roxxxy, and finds her too far away, still struggling to get Rigby back in order. Sharon, much closer to Alaska, appears to be just the opposite - Cerrone stands, stomping his feet nervously and kicking back a little, but standing relatively still, and Sharon is calmly aiming her rifle at a man doing just the same to her several yards away.

Alaska’s breath catches, but before she can say anything, a shot rings out, making her flinch violently. Fear strikes her like lightning as she stares at Sharon, waiting for her to fall, wounded or dead, but she never does.

Alaska looks over to find the man’s gray horse speeding away, squealing and dragging its rider along by the foot caught in its reins. It makes her stomach churn, and when it clashes with the fear still running through her veins, she feels as if she’s going to be sick.

 _We almost had a peace treaty_ , Alaska thinks, as Phi Phi shouts something angrily, she and the rest of her riders stilling. Sharon had been the one to turn to violence, to murder, not Solomon.

The realization shakes her, and for the first time she wonders: _am I really on the right side?_

“Last chance, Needles!” Phi Phi yells, her voice carrying well in the wind. “Solomon wants peace - don’t fucking _ruin_ it!”

“I’ve just murdered two of your men and you still want peace?” Sharon shouts back, laughter in her voice. Alaska trots over to her, so that they’re standing only a few feet apart. Sharon has a disbelieving smirk on her face, her eyes wide. “What the fuck do you think I am? A fucking idiot?”

“All will be forgiven if you just stop _shooting_ for five fucking seconds!”

“I’d say it’s been around thirty,” Sharon says, and then she lifts her gun up again, suddenly looking at the man to Phi Phi’s left, and Alaska feels like she’s watching it in slow motion.

This isn’t justice - this was a senseless bloodbath, and Alaska is beginning to feel like Sharon’s the one that’s been prolonging it. She has to stop this. She has to save Sharon from herself - she has to save _herself_ from _Sharon_.

Without thinking any further, Alaska lunges over and knocks the gun out of Sharon’s hands.

A gunshot cracks out anyway, and Alaska jumps as a bullet whistles right next to her ear, nicking the very top of her jacket with what feels like a light tap. She whips her head towards the man to find him staring at them, gun smoking.

She doesn’t feel anything, to her surprise. Fear seems far away, and when Sharon snaps her gun back up and shoots the man squarely in the chest, knocking him to the ground, Alaska can only think about how she’s completely and utterly useless, whether she’s working for or against any of these people.

She almost died, and it would have been for nothing - Sharon would have killed that man anyway, albeit being more justified in it, and Alaska would be dead.

She flinches again as Roxxxy shoots the last man, leaving only Phi Phi to stand against them. She feels like a predator - a murderer terrorizing his last victim.

This isn’t what she signed up for.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Alaska,” Sharon hisses under her breath, hurriedly flipping her rifle open and thumbing shells into it with expert hands. “Are you _insane_?”

“Are _you_?” Alaska hisses back, the shock breaking over her and manifesting in anger and fear. “You’re just going to sit there and kill people who haven’t even raised a weapon–”

“Did you fucking see that bullet? He coud have fucking killed you Alaska, but by some miracle you–”

“He wouldn’t have shot if you hadn’t started aiming.”

“You should pay more attention before you start making accusations, Alaska,” Sharon says coldly, flipping her gun closed and glancing at Alaska. “He was aiming at you when I first looked at him. Chew on that.”

Alaska sucks in a breath, her heart sinking with guilt and a little bit of fear. She’d been a target. It makes sense - she’s running around with the Needles gang, she’s going to be assumed to be one of them. She’s _trying_ to be one of them. Sharon had been keeping her word.

She hadn’t kept her promise about no killing, but Alaska doesn’t have the wherewithal to argue that point right now. Mostly because along with the fear that comes with almost being shot, she feels a kind of thrill, an adrenaline that makes her blood sing.

She could so easily be seduced by it.

Sharon lifts her gun up towards Phi Phi, frowning.

“What the fuck is going on here, O’Hara?” Sharon asks, training her rifle on the other woman. “This is beyond a peace treaty. Solomon’s sent you on a suicide mission, and I can’t believe you’re letting him.”

Phi Phi smirks, but when she lowers her gun, her hands clearly shake. Alaska feels her heart go out to her, her own fear acting as a sort of tool for empathy. “Solomon knows what he’s doing. I trust him.”

“You sound like a fucking cult member,” Sharon says, lip curling with disgust, and her finger inches towards the trigger.

Alaska grabs the barrel, catching Sharon’s attention and careful not to move the gun.

“Sharon,” Alaska says warningly, her stomach dipping in sudden alarm. “Stop. You said - you told me there wouldn’t be any killing–”

“Alaska,” Sharon begins sharply, her tone clearly stating that she is at the end of her rope. “This is hardly an innocent wo–”

“This is a murder in cold blood!” Alaska interrupts, panic making everything too slow, and adrenaline making her react too quickly. She meets Sharon’s gaze confidently, and she keeps herself from shirking away from the anger in the outlaw’s eyes. She can tell Sharon isn’t inclined to listen to her, so she pulls out the last card she has, desperate for the murders to stop and to go back to pretending Sharon isn’t a cold blooded killer. “Sharon, if you kill her, I’m _done_.”

Sharon clenches her jaw, her lips pressed tightly together. For a moment, Alaska thinks she’s about to be shot down. Sharon lets out a shaky sigh. “Fine. A hostage is always useful, anyway.”

Alaska sags with relief, ignoring Phi Phi’s pale-faced confusion and Roxxxy’s noise of protest, and instead glancing nervously at Sharon’s face. She can’t read her expression.

“Are you going to give her the special treatment?” Alaska asks, feeling bold with her new win. She’d done something. “Or was that just for me?”

Sharon doesn’t laugh, but Alaska sees the corner of her mouth twitch.

They’re going to be okay.

🌸

They ride to camp in a cold silence, taking twice as long with Phi Phi’s horse trailing behind them by a rope, Phi Phi lying on its back with her hands and feet tied.

The silence continues up until Jinkx asks what happened, glancing at Phi Phi, and Sharon explodes with an angry explanation, glaring at Alaska nearly the entire time.

Alaska is beginning to doubt how okay they will be.

“Solomon’s gang found us,” Sharon snaps, swinging off of Cerrone and tying him to one of the posts. “Alaska wasn’t at watch, so we got no warning. They offered peace - obviously bullshit. Alaska nearly got herself killed, and the kidnapped princess over here owes Alaska her life.”

Alaska bristles at the unfair picture Sharon is painting, embarrassed and indignant. “There’s a little more to the story than that, Sharon,” she snaps out, sliding off of Peaches. Jinkx walks over and takes the reins from her, looking between them with a concerned expression on her face.

“Did something happen between you two?”

“Alaska disobeyed orders and nearly fucked us over. Twice.”

Alaska glares at Sharon, who meets her gaze boldly. “I’m sorry for trying to take agency,” she sneers, clenching her fists with unreleased energy. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to do? Or did you really just want another dog at your command?”

An icy silence falls over the five of them, and Alaska is surprised to see hurt flicker across Sharon’s face before it goes completely blank with anger.

“In my tent. We need to talk.”

Alaska suddenly feels nauseous with guilt, and she takes a hesitant step towards Sharon. “Sharon–”

“I’ll meet you there as soon as this is taken care of,” Sharon says, motioning towards Phi Phi, and Alaska nods, her stomach twisting. Sharon isn’t looking at her anymore.

She heads to the end of camp, sun dried grass crunching under her feet, and risks a glance behind her just before she ducks into the tent. It’s hard to see with the setting sun directly behind the four women, but when she shields her eyes somewhat, she can see Sharon standing a little off from the group, her hand pinching her nose. Jinkx approaches, placing a hand on her shoulder, and Sharon relaxes into her touch without hesitation.

Alaska rips open the tent flap and steps inside, a fire burning low in her stomach. She has the desperate urge to break something, and she casts about the room for anything of Sharon’s that might service her in that.

She finds nothing, and she’s just getting ready to kick Sharon’s bedding around, her anger still begging for an outlet, when a glint from the set of drawers in the corner catches her eye. It looks like a chain is hanging haphazardly out of the top drawer, and she steps over to grab it, curiosity peaked. Sharon doesn’t seem the type to wear jewelry.

It’s a necklace, with a small, rusty locket hanging off a delicate silver chain. It looks like it hasn’t been worn in years, but the green tinge to the chain tells her that at least at some point, it had been worn constantly. From the way it had been hanging out of the drawer, she would guess that it had been tossed there recently and carelessly, even though she would have noticed something like this on Sharon’s throat.

She pries open the locket with little difficulty, and it falls open, its hinges loose from age. In it sits two pictures: one of Sharon, younger and eyes a little softer, and one of an older woman Alaska has never seen before.

She has light hair, either gray or blonde, and high cheekbones that match her regal smile. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, and her brows are rounded, giving her an appealing softness. Who was this? Who is she to Sharon? Her mother? Is she still alive? Why doesn’t Sharon t–

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Alaska jumps, her heart jolting in her chest. She whirls around to find Sharon standing in the middle of the tent, staring at her with disbelieving anger.

There’s a beat of guilty silence, before Alaska’s curiosity makes her break it.

“Who is this?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sharon snaps out. “Put it back.”

Her tone makes irritation burst within Alaska. “What? Are you too afraid to tell me about this, too?”

“Forgive me for not wanting to share my past with you right now, Alaska! Not when I don’t even know if–” she cuts herself off, pressing her lips together. “Just, put it back.”

“Fine,” Alaska says shortly, and she chucks the thing back into the drawer, taking some satisfaction in the loud clatter it makes. “There. Happy?”

Sharon looks furious. “No. Even if you fucking treated my things with respect, I wouldn’t be happy. You fucked me over, Alaska. You put everyone at risk, and you don’t seem to understand that.”

“That’s not the point,” Alaska shoots back.

“Then what, pray tell, was the point? Saving the enemy even if it means hanging the rest of us out to dry?”

“I wasn’t– I didn’t see the man aiming at me, Sharon, what was I supposed to do? Let you shoot him?”

“ _Yes_!”

“You shot them unprovoked, fuck, Sharon, I can’t stand by that!”

“If you want to live this life, you have to,” Sharon says.

“Maybe I don’t want this life!” Alaska bursts out, and the words feel wrong even as she’s saying them. She continues, however, her mind racing with all of her pent up emotions and fears. “I don’t want to be a - a fucking murderer, Sharon! This isn’t the fucking cost I’m willing to pay!”

“We kill because it’s fucking necessary,” Sharon says, her own voice rising to match Alaska’s. “You’re acting like it’s some fucking game we play–”

“They were offering peace! _Peace_! Tell me where in there it was necessary to shoot first!”

“Have you considered the fact that maybe I’ve run into these people before, Alaska? They’re not trustworthy.”

“You haven’t even given them a chance–”

“I _have_!” Sharon shouts, and Alaska falls silent in surprise. “I fucking reached out and I got _burned,_ Alaska. It was the biggest mistake of my life and I am _not_ fucking doing it again, not on my fucking grave.”

There’s a long pause in which Sharon visibly collects herself, looking shaken. “Someone died, because I was stubborn and I thought Solomon was our best chance at getting help. _You_ almost died today, Alaska, bec–”

“Because I tried to do the same thing,” Alaska finishes, the anger rushing out of her. Sharon nods, a strange expression on her face. It takes Alaska a moment to realize that it’s grief.

“It was less about the peace,” Alaska confesses, her heart softening and battling the urge to just hug Sharon and forget about the argument. There’s something fundamental here, though, that she needs Sharon to agree to. “More about the killing.”

“I know I broke my promise,” Sharon says, “but I was trying to keep another one.”

Alaska opens her mouth to say ‘ _not with that first shot, you weren’t’,_ but Sharon’s outburst has spun even that in a more justified light. She still won’t stand for it, however. “It’s not about the promise. It’s about the killing.”

Sharon frowns at her. “It’s necessary.”

“Except when it’s not,” Alaska says, growing a little frustrated. “You don’t need to kill people, Sharon. You’re better than that.”

“Alaska–”

“Promise me you won’t kill unless, I don’t know, you have a gun to your head. Promise me you won’t be the first to shoot.”

“I can’t–”

“Promise me this, and I’ll stay.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“You’ll stay?” Sharon asks, her expression relaxing completely in shock, happiness at its edges. Something warm pools in Alaska’s chest.

“If you promise.”

“I’ll do my best,” Sharon says, and Alaska nearly pushes for more, before Sharon takes a step closer and her brain abandons her.

“Good enough,” she says, and Sharon breaks out into the brightest grin she has ever seen.

“Alaska,” she says, joy coloring her voice, and Alaska finds herself grinning back. “Before I kiss you, I need you to know that I swear I’m not happy because I have another dog at my command.”

“I know,” Alaska says, guilt still sharp in her throat. “I didn’t mean it, when I said it. I was just–”

Sharon cuts her off with a kiss, and Alaska melts.

It’s harder than their last kiss, Sharon pressed up against Alaska and gripping her waist tightly, the both of them pouring the intensity of the last few hours into the moment between them.

Alaska plunges her hands into Sharon’s curls, twisting the thick strands between her fingers, a desperate heat burning low in her belly as Sharon’s hands slide up her sides. Suddenly hungry for more, she tugs on Sharon’s hair, and they break apart as Sharon jerks her head back.

“Take my shirt off,” Alaska gasps, and Sharon looks at her, surprised. There’s a pleased expression in her eyes.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one giving orders?”

“Please,” Alaska breathes, and Sharon smirks.

“As you wish,” she murmurs, and she slides her hands up Alaska’s chest, pressing over her breasts as she makes her way to the top button. Alaska arches into the touch, and Sharon smiles, pleased. “I haven’t even gotten the damn thing off, baby, be patient.”

The pet name only makes Alaska more eager, and she groans a little in frustration as Sharon begins her work, moving too slowly for Alaska’s taste. In an effort to help speed things along, her own hands fly to Sharon’s shirt, fumbling with the buttons. She’s never been more grateful for the absence of a corset - these buttons are difficult enough.

Sharon finally gets Alaska’s shirt undone, and Alaska gives up about halfway through Sharon’s to allow her to slide the fabric off of her shoulders and down her arms, the cotton making a soft sound as it hits the floor. Sharon’s gaze moves over her eagerly, a heat in her eyes that makes Alaska weak in the knees.

“You’re beautiful,” she breaths, and Alaska lunges forwards to pull her in for another kiss, sliding her hands into Sharon’s shirt. Sharon gasps at the touch, and desire makes Alaska dig her fingers in a little harder, breathing catching at Sharon’s resulting moan.

Somehow, they end up lying on the mess of blankets in the middle of the floor, Sharon on top and straddling Alaska, kissing her deeply. Alaska still has her hands in Sharon’s shirt, hanging deliciously open, and she experimentally brushes her nipple.

Sharon’s moan means everything.

Sharon slides her hand down Alaska’s stomach, undoing her belt slowly with both hands. Alaska’s heart stutters as she feels the belt loosen, and Sharon smiles into the kiss, her fingers dipping under the waistline of Alaska’s pants and below her underwear. Alaska squirms underneath her with pleasure, and Sharon laughs, breaking off the kiss and stopping just short of where Alaska wants her to be.

“Is this okay?” she whispers, and Alaska whines.

“What do you _think_?” she breathes out, and Sharon finishes her journey.

Alaska’s brain completely short circuits.

She’s already wet, so Sharon has no trouble gliding her finger up and down, and Alaska’s hips buck to help her along. She thinks this is what euphoria feels like.

She’s had affairs with other girls before - kissed them, touched them - but she’s never gotten this far. This is, this is-

Sharon slips a finger inside of her, and the world comes to a halt. She gasps, her hands clenching a little on Sharon’s waist. Sharon smirks, and she moves her hand just slightly.

Alaska sees stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed!!!!
> 
> the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6xuTbkNvtHC6By0k4D66gP?si=PoH3XXRWRyaC8HU28YS7nw
> 
> tumblr: @narcoleptic-drag-queen


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.”   
> \- D. H. Lawrence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooooo!!! thank you SO MUCH for the comments last chapter - they mean the WORLD!! 
> 
> I just want to thank Frey for betaing - she singlehandedly fixed a plot hole, and I am indebted to her forever. I also want to note that in the middle of writing this, my wrist done got fucked - I finished anyway, for you, my loves
> 
> Hope you're ready for the feelings coming your way, and enjoy the calm before the storm!!

Alaska is in love.

As she meets Sharon’s eyes in the warm candle light, her heart swells, and she just _knows._

She’s never been in love before.

It’s terrifying.

Her heart starts to beat a little faster with the realization, and Alaska can only hope that Sharon doesn’t notice, despite how close they are. Unfortunately, Sharon’s head is resting on her collarbone, and Sharon is nothing if not observant.

“If you’re getting excited for some more,” she says tiredly, “you’re out of luck.”

Luckily, Sharon is also prone to making assumptions.

Alaska lets out a surprised laugh, relieved and calmer for it. She shoves her realization into the back of her mind, just wanting to bask in the moment and keep enjoying the feeling of Sharon’s skin against hers without panicking. “What if I told you I’d leave again?” she drawls.

“That would make you a liar,” Sharon says, and her arms wrap more tightly around Alaska. Alaska’s heart jumps in response, affection bubbling up inside her.

“I guess I won’t, then,” she says, fake pouting, and Sharon laughs.

“I think you’ll live.”

 _As long as you’re this close, I could live with anything,_ Alaska thinks, but she only snorts in response, carding her fingers through Sharon’s curls and gently working out the tangles she comes across.

There’s a moment of silence as Alaska works out a particularly big tangle, and Sharon huffs out a laugh through her nose. “I have a comb, you know,” Sharon says drily. Alaska snorts.

“It’s more fun this way. Besides, I’ve never actually seen you use it, wherever it is.”

“Hey! I’m not the one with a rat’s nest sitting on top of my head.”

Alaska gasps in mock anger, barely restraining her smile as she tugs on Sharon’s hair in retribution. “Take that _back_. It’s your fault it’s even gotten this bad.”

“You’re right,” Sharon says gravely. “I did say I would protect you when things went south.”

“I can reach my gun from here, you know,” Alaska threatens, and Sharon pulls back to laugh at her. Alaska mourns the slight loss of contact, but Sharon’s bright smile makes it worth it. It still gives her butterflies, despite the fact that they’re both half dressed and cuddling.

She would do anything for that smile.

Jesus Christ, she’s in _love._

“Here,” Sharon says, sitting up and folding her legs beneath her. Alaska watches her, dismayed and suddenly chilly. They’d slipped their shirts back on, but they’re nothing compared to body heat. “Sit up.”

“It’s too cold for this,” Alaska whines, and she tugs on Sharon’s wrists to make her lie down again. “How are you not shivering?”

“I’m a weatherworn criminal,” Sharon deadpans, and she uses Alaska’s grip on her wrists to pull her up into a sitting position. Alaska lets her, albeit reluctantly. “My skin is practically leather.”

“Please,” Alaska snorts. “You could give the moon a run for its money.”

Sharon raises an eyebrow, barking out a surprised laugh. “Alright, for that you can turn around. I don’t want to look at you anymore.”

Alaska sputters out a laugh. “You can’t hide from the truth, Sharon.”

“I can try,” Sharon says, but she’s smiling, her eyes soft with something Alaska can’t quite put a finger on. “But seriously, turn around. I’m going to braid your hair.”

“Why?” Alaska asks, but she’s already turning, affection once again filling her chest. She hears Sharon grab something off of the crate behind her.

“So that you can’t blame me next time your hair gets fucked,” Sharon tells her, and Alaska feels her shift closer.

“Technically, I can blame you for anything that happens to me in this camp,” Alaska says, but she loses half of the punch when Sharon presses a kiss to the bare part of her shoulder, her breath catching halfway through her sentence.

“I’ll take it,” Sharon says softly, her breath ghosting along Alaska’s neck. Alaska shivers. “As long as you stay.”

“I’m too in l–” Alaska cuts herself off, swallowing her almost-confession along with a bubble of air. She immediately breaks out into a coughing fit, and Sharon’s hands go to her shoulders, steadying her as she hacks.

The idea of leaving seems ludicrous, now. Happiness is here. Freedom is here. The woman she _loves_ is here. She can’t go back because of one of those reasons, and even if she did, she’d lose all three. She can ignore the twinge of guilt she feels when she thinks about her father - god knows he’s screwed her over enough.

She just can’t lose this.

“Jesus,” Sharon says as soon as Alaska is able to suck in air again, tone teasing. She starts finger combing Alaska’s hair, working out the bigger knots fairly painlessly. “Don’t tell me you have consumption.”

Alaska tries very hard not to think of her mother. “Don’t joke about that,” she says, voice quiet. “Please.”

Sharon’s fingers still in her hair, clearly picking up on Alaska’s tone. “Alright,” she says softly. There’s a beat. “Who was it?”

“My mother,” Alaska says stiffly, determined to keep her eyes dry. Sharon resumes combing.

“I had a brother. He was just a baby, so I didn’t know him well, but it was still a tragedy. I can’t imagine a mother.”

“No,” Alaska whispers, her lip trembling a little. “It was hard.”

“Mhm,” Sharon hums, and then she says, “but not as hard as brushing your hair is going to be.”

There’s a moment of shocked silence before a laugh escapes Alaska, the joke strangely healing despite its blunt tone. “For me or for you?”

“You tell me,” Sharon says, a smile in her voice, and then Alaska feels a sharp pain in her scalp as Sharon starts running the brush through her hair.

“Ah, _fuck!_ ” she snaps out, clutching her head as Sharon cackles. “Are you fucking _trying_ to hurt me?”

“I had to follow through!”

“I’m going to bed,” Alaska sighs, and she starts to turn around, before Sharon stops her, laughing.

“I’ll be gentle! Please, turn back around. I’ll be nice.”

“Promise?”

“I cross my heart. I hope you’re writing all of these promises down.”

“Oh, I am,” Alaska drawls, turning back around. “And _I_ promise to scream if you do that again.”

“Brat,” Sharon says fondly, and Alaska rolls her eyes.

“Haven’t heard that one before.”

They lapse into silence as Sharon resumes brushing, working out the knots relatively painlessly and pressing her lips against Alaska’s shoulder in silent apology when there’s a particularly hard tug. Alaska finds herself relaxing by increments, Sharon’s rhythmic breathing and the feeling of fingers in her hair making her eyelids heavier and heavier.

“Done,” Sharon says quietly, breaking the comfortable silence they’d fallen into. “I almost don’t want to braid it - it looks so pretty just like this.”

Alaska hums as Sharon combs her fingers through her hair, raking her nails across her scalp as she moves down. She finds herself leaning into the touch, letting her eyes close.

“I think we can forgo the braid,” she murmurs, and Sharon laughs.

“You’re awfully comfortable.”

“ _You’re_ comfortable,” Alaska says, and she falls back the rest of the way against Sharon, smiling as Sharon’s arms immediately wrap around her, holding fast. They sit in silence for a moment, both growing tired, and it allows Alaska’s mind to wander a little.

She is, strangely, comfortable.

The moment she’d come back to herself after that miraculous twist of Sharon’s fingers, Sharon collapsing next to her and grinning from ear to ear, she’d panicked, a mantra of _what the fuck have I just done_ running through her mind as her heart pounded in her ears. She’d felt wrong - like she’d just misbehaved, and she would be caught and punished at any moment.

But then, Sharon had put a hand on her cheek, drawing her into another kiss, and all of the tension had left her body.

“ _Alaska,_ ” she’d breathed, and Alaska suddenly didn’t care about anything that wasn’t the woman in front of her.

It’s become abruptly easier to push away the thoughts of her father, of society, of responsibility. Things feel natural with Sharon - _right,_ in a way Alaska has never felt in her life. She’s going to bask in it for as long as she can, even as her heart starts to pound again the longer she thinks about it.

“Do you feel safe?” Sharon asks suddenly, jerking Alaska out of her thoughts.

Alaska frowns, a little disoriented. “What?”

“I just - you almost died today, and all I did was yell. I want to know if you still - if you still feel _safe._ ”

“Sharon–”

“I don’t want to ruin what we have. If I’ve already done it–”

“Sharon,” Alaska says again, tone more pointed. “I’m in your lap right now. How do you _think_ I feel?”

Sharon huffs a small laugh, but there’s no joy in it. Clearly, Alaska hadn’t been the only one getting into her thoughts.

There’s a long stretch of silence as Alaska thinks, desperate for a way to let Sharon know that her thoughts had been straying towards just the opposite when she first brought it up.

“I think this is the safest I’ve ever felt,” Alaska eventually murmurs, and it’s true. Her father was distant, cold, unfeeling - he flung her at suitors full of false charm and predatory leers. Her friends came and went, marrying off and laughing about the fact that she hadn’t.

It’s hard to feel safe when no one even cares whether you are or not.

“Good,” Sharon whispers, sounding relieved. Her arms tighten around Alaska. “Good.”

“Good,” Alaska says, and then her stomach growls. “Dinner?”

Sharon laughs.

🌸

They go to bed early that night, but Alaska sleeps for what feels like five minutes before she’s shaken awake again. She is more than a little irritated.

She groans, and she only grows angrier when she cracks her eyes open to darkness, the moon still shining through the canvas of the tent. “Sharon, this had better be–”

“Alaska?”

Alaska sits straight up at the strange desperation in Sharon’s voice, worry flooding her body and annoyance fleeing in its wake. She turns to find Sharon staring at her like she’s just seen a ghost, her hair mussed and her cheeks streaked with tear tracks. Alaska’s heart spikes with fear at the sight of her.

“Sharon?” she asks, her tone a little too loud with her worry, and Sharon’s hand clenches where it still lingers on Alaska’s arm. “What’s wrong?”

Sharon slumps in what looks like relief, breathing in a little. She looks like she isn’t all there. “You’re alright?”

Alaska tenses - was somebody hurt? “Of course I’m alright,” Alaska says, frowning as her panic rises, hundreds of scenarios popping into her head. She grabs Sharon’s wrist, where her hand is on Alaska’s arm. “Is everyone okay? Did Phi Phi escape?”

Her question seems to break Sharon out of whatever state she’d been in, and a strange series of expressions flickers across her face, the strange look in her eyes fading as she looks around the tent. She takes in another breath, her expression finally settling on a small frown. “Oh.”

Alaska squeezes her wrist urgently. “‘Oh’? What does that mean?”

“It means I’m an idiot,” Sharon snaps out suddenly, and Alaska lets go of her wrist in surprise. Sharon’s face softens, and she chases Alaska’s hand in apology. “Sorry. Everyone’s alright.”

Alaska stares at her, confused. “Then why–” she cuts herself off, realization crashing down on her like a wave. It’s her turn to feel like an idiot. “You had a nightmare.”

Sharon snorts, her eyes on the ground. “Told you there’s a reason Jinkx sleeps in Morgan’s tent and not mine,” she jokes weakly. She’s clearly embarrassed, and it’s strange to see - she’d never seen Sharon anything close to embarrassed, even after she’d punched Alaska in the nose that first night.

Maybe, Alaska thinks, because she had just that to distract from herself from what she was really ashamed of.

“You can’t tell me Jinkx was bothered by this enough to leave,” Alaska says, and Sharon raises an eyebrow.

“Who said it was her decision?”

Alaska frowns, her heart breaking a little. She wouldn’t believe Sharon kicking Jinkx out, either, if it weren’t for the clear defensive edge in her eyes. “Alright,” she says carefully, wary of pushing too far. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sharon hesitates. “No.”

Alaska squeezes her hand, fighting back the urge to pull Sharon and her tear-stained cheeks closer. “Sharon–”

“I said _no_.”

“Can I–”

“It has nothing to do with you, Alaska, so just _drop_ it.”

Hurt flashes through Alaska at her tone. “Considering the way you woke me up, I’d say it has at least _something_ to do with me.”

Sharon blushes, glaring. “It wasn’t _about_ you,” she amends. “Things just got - jumbled.”

“What things?” Alaska asks, and Sharon’s eyes flick behind her. Alaska turns - there’s nothing but the set of drawers.

“Please, Alaska,” Sharon says, sounding more tired than angry, and when Alaska turns back around, the expression in her eyes evokes a kind of sadness that resonates too deeply within Alaska. “Let’s just go back to sleep.”

Alaska wants to know. She wants to know _so badly._ She wants to be able to talk that look out of Sharon’s eyes, to know what makes this woman tick, what could possibly affect her this badly. She almost wants to get angry about it - wants to throw Sharon’s lack of trust in her face and force the answers out of her that way. But she doesn’t want to force Sharon to give her anything - that was the _point._ She wants Sharon to trust her, and something tells her that getting angry when she doesn’t share her darkest fears won’t make that happen.

Still, a question burns at the tip of her tongue, and she can’t help but give into it. “Was it about today?” she asks, voice quiet. _Was it about me dying?_

“A little,” Sharon says stiffly. “I-” her voice breaks, and Alaska is horrified when her face crumples a little. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She sounds frustrated and close to tears, and guilt swirls in Alaska’s stomach.

“You don’t have to,” she says, voice quiet.

“You’d hate me if I did,” Sharon whispers, and shock runs through Alaska like lightning.

“I wouldn’t,” she says, even as doubt nibbles at the back of her mind. What if Sharon had done something truly horrible? “You couldn’t make me hate you.” Alaska sucks in a breath as the words escape her, far too close to a confession of love.

Sharon sucks in a shaky breath, breaking eye contact to look at the streak of moonlight on the floor. “Well,” she says, making an attempt to sound normal. It’s not working. “I’m not willing to test that right now. Let’s just - let’s just sleep.”

Alaska swallows back her desire to keep pushing, and she nods instead, mirroring Sharon as she lies back down. “Come here,” she says softly, and Sharon frowns a little.

“What?”

“I just want to – let me hold you,” Alaska says, begging Sharon with her eyes. Concern is still welling up in her throat, and the desire to do something to help, anything to help, is overwhelming. Cuddling, her gut is telling her, will definitely help. “I want to hold you.”

Sharon looks at her for a moment longer before her expression softens into surprised appreciation. “Alright,” she says slowly, and she allows Alaska to wrap her arms around her, burying her face into Alaska’s collarbone.

A sudden surge of protectiveness washes over Alaska, and she tightens her arms around Sharon in an effort to relieve it. She can’t imagine what Sharon might have done - the other woman’s reaction is frightening, but Alaska can’t imagine it to be worse than what she’d done to Solomon’s gang.

It must be, though, if Sharon feels this guilty about it, and Alaska’s stomach dips at the thought.

She lies awake for a long time, pretending not to feel Sharon’s body shake with silent sobs.

🌸

When Alaska opens her eyes again, late morning sunlight is drifting in with the loosened tent flap, there are dried tear tracks pulling at the skin on her cheeks, and Sharon is gone.

She isn’t surprised - Sharon is an early riser, and Alaska is the opposite. It’s not unusual for her to wake up alone in the tent, but now she finds herself resenting it, disappointment a nagging feeling in her chest. She’s usually grateful for the chance to be alone - but now, all she wants is to see Sharon again.

She pulls on her boots, further motivated by the smell of food, and when she goes to tie her hair back, she grins at the lack of knots - it won’t last long, but for now, it reminds her of Sharon and the warm glow of their tent.

The thought makes Alaska’s breath catch. When the hell did she start thinking of this tent as ‘theirs’?

She looks around, taking in the dusty crates, the rumpled blankets, the patched holes in the canvas roof. When she’d first seen this tent, she’d laughed at the shabbiness of it, the whole thing feeling bare bones and dirty. Now, it feels familiar, lived in, _safe -_ something she’d only felt when her mother filled the household with smiles and hugs.

The feeling scares something within Alaska, and she ducks out of the tent quickly, a little shaken.

She’s decided to stay, but it had been for Sharon, for what she now knows is love. She hadn’t expected to belong further than that, and as she creeps closer to that anyway, she finds that she had been taking a certain kind of comfort in it. She isn’t quite like these women - she’s civilized, moral - _better_. What does it mean if she feels truly at home here?

This thought scares her as well, and she shoves it into the back of her mind, taking a deep breath. She’s just been here long enough to form an attachment, that’s all.

Alaska finds Sharon by the fire, grinning and laughing with Alyssa and Morgan, who still looks sharp even with a smile on her face. Alaska is relieved to see it - she’d been worried out of her mind last night, the terror in Sharon’s eyes haunting her own dreams, and it’s comforting to see Sharon bounce back from what had looked like paralyzing fear.

Alaska tells herself that it’s not an act.

As she approaches the women, however, new doubts start to trickle into her mind.

How is she supposed to behave? Her instincts tell her that they should be hiding their relationship - this is a relationship, right? Can two women-? - but Katya clearly hadn’t had a problem with Trixie. Does Sharon resent her for pushing last night? Does she even want to see her right now? Doe–

“Lasky!” Sharon exclaims, finishing the distance between Alaska and the firepit and giving her a wide smile. “Good morning!”

She takes Alaska’s face in her hands, and she kisses her.

It’s only a small kiss, and she’s gone before Alaska can really reciprocate, but it still makes her stomach flutter with pleasure, and the feeling only grows when Sharon doesn’t let go of her hand. Then, she remembers that they have an audience.

She snaps her gaze over to Alyssa and Morgan, her stomach dropping like an anchor, fearing the worst: disgust, aggression, fear. She gets none of it - in fact, they seem unfazed, Alyssa smiling like a mother does on her daughter’s wedding day, and Morgan not even watching.

Sharon follows her gaze, frowning. “Is there something wrong?”

“No,” Alaska says, stunned. She feels weightless, like a huge burden has suddenly been lifted off of her shoulders. “Nothing.”

“If you say so,” Sharon says, still looking concerned, but she tugs Alaska towards the firepit anyway, the exchange clearly over.

“Alyssa was just telling us about how she got ‘discovered’,” Morgan says, raising a pointed eyebrow and cradling a cup of coffee. “And I say ‘discovered’ like that because–”

“Because it was more like she put herself up for adoption,” Sharon finishes, and Alyssa gapes at the two of them, offended.

“I’ll have you know I was sought after by the biggest showman in the West,” she says stiffly. She pauses to gently hand Alaska a bowl of what looks like boiled oats. “There’s sugar somewhere around here, sweetie,” she tells her, and then she’s rounding on Sharon again. “P.T. Barnum _himself_ came knocking on my door!”

“And I’m sure there’s a reason you weren’t traveling around with P.T. Barnum when I found you?”

“I had loyalties,” Alyssa sniffs. “I couldn’t just leave Charles, I’m not cold hearted.”

“You seemed to have no problem with leaving when I asked you to.”

“Girl, I was old when I met you!” Alyssa laughs. “I was ready to retire anyway.”

“Please, you’re hardly old,” Sharon says, mischief twinkling in her eyes. “Showbusiness just ages you faster.”

“Rude!” Alyssa cries, but it’s clearly in good humor. “And right after I just fed y’all!”

“Hey, don’t loop me in with this,” Morgan says, and Alyssa waves her away.

“Don’t think I don’t know who Sharon was smiling at,” she says. “And Alaska’s not at the right angle.”

“Me?” Morgan repeats, mock innocence oozing out of her.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t Phi Phi,” Sharon says, and the four women fall silent, glancing behind Morgan towards the post, where Phi Phi sits, slumped over and silent.

“She’s awful quiet,” Alyssa says, a little muted herself. “Are you sure–”

“I’m sure,” Sharon says, and it’s clear that they’d discussed it at least a little before Alaska had woken up. “This has to be a set up. I don’t care how well Phi Phi can act - she’s going to stay here until she tells us what’s really going on.”

“When are you going to interrogate her?” Morgan asks, expression serious.

“Right now,” Sharon says, and as she stands, Alaska mirrors her.

“I’m coming with you,” she says, and Sharon raises an eyebrow.

“Are you?” she asks, and Alaska nods.

“I’m the reason she’s here,” she says, firm in her resolution. She will see this through - she’s still invested in the idea of a peace treaty, and the fact that Phi Phi hasn’t let it go is enough to make hope bubble back up in her chest. If they manage to end this without any more blood spilt… “I want to see how this goes.”

There’s a gleam of pride in Sharon’s eyes as she appraises her, and Alaska’s heart swells at it, pleased. “Good enough for me,” Sharon says, and then she starts towards the post, Alaska close behind, her heart pounding with anticipation and no small thrill running through her at the thought of interrogation, childhood games swimming through her memories.

“Phi Phi O’Hara,” Sharon greets as they near the pole, stopping at Phi Phi’s outstretched feet. She doesn’t, Alaska notices, crouch down so that they’re at eye level. That must have just been a part of her own, special, treatment.

“Oh, so you _can_ see me,” Phi Phi says bitterly, glaring up at Sharon. She sounds hoarse, and she has to licks her lips before she speaks. It takes Alaska far too long to realize it’s because she hasn’t had water since before their altercation.

“It _is_ hard to look at you,” Sharon says, unimpressed. “But yes, I can.”

“Fuck off, Needles.”

“Not until you tell me what yesterday was really about.”

“I _have,_ ” Phi Phi sneers. “It’s your own hang ups that are keeping you from believing us.”

“Can you fucking blame me?” Sharon snaps, the previous calm in her voice fading in favor of hot anger. “After what Solomon did–”

“He didn’t pretend to be anything he wasn’t,” Phi Phi shoots back.

“Which is a _liar._ ”

“Not with this!”

“If you don’t tell me–”

“What, you’ll use one of these pokers?” Phi Phi jerks her head towards the bucket of metal fire pokers near the post, and Alaska’s heart stops at the sight of them, the fear she’d felt when Sharon had tied her up suddenly a fresh memory.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Sharon says, and Alaska’s breath catches.

“Is that true?” she asks, before she can stop herself, and Sharon shoots her a look.

“If you don’t–”

“Sharon!”

Sharon falls silent at the call, frowning at something just behind Alaska, and Alaska turns to find Jinkx sprinting up the hill towards them from the entrance to camp, where her horse still stands, untethered in her rush to get to Sharon.

Alaska’s stomach dips fearfully at the sight.

“Jesus,” Sharon mutters, and Alaska follows her as she rushes down the hill to meet Jinkx, who’s already out of breath.

“What is it?” Sharon asks, worry clear in her voice as she reaches Jinkx, who grabs her hand. Alaska ignores the spark of jealousy she feels at the sight.

“I ran into Raja in town - she just got word–”

“Word?” Sharon asks quickly.

“It’s Kameron Michaels. She got caught in Honard, and now she’s on death row.”

“Jesus, fuck,” Sharon breathes, and Alaska can see her hand tighten around Jinkx’s. “When?”

“Two days from now. They want to do it quickly - the mayor supposedly wants to clear more space in the jail for bounties.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sharon hisses. “I’ll have to leave now.”

“And do what?” Jinkx cries. “Advocate for her to the jury?”

“Of course not,” Sharon snaps. “I’ll break her out.”

Jinkx stares at her. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, I’m doing it.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m the leader–”

“And I’m the only one with sense around here!” Jinkx cries, clearly distressed. Alaska is inclined to agree with her - this feels like an enormous risk, and she doesn’t want Sharon to take it. Whatever this Kameron person did, she must deserve the quick sentence - the police hardly did it in New York.

“I owe it to her, Jinkx,” Sharon says after a beat, voice quiet with urgency. “It’s the fucking least I can do.”

There’s a long stretch of silence in which Jinkx visibly searches for a comeback, and ultimately fails. “I’m not going to convince you, am I?” she asks tiredly, slumping.

“Not when it comes to this,” Sharon says, her voice soft with sympathy. “I have to. There’s no other option.”

Alaska watches the exchange, her heart rate picking up. The idea of Sharon leaving is terrifying - she doesn’t want to be alone at camp, no matter how kind Jinkx has proven herself to be, and she certainly doesn’t want Sharon to leave and never come back.

Jinkx clearly feels the same way, and it’s with some severity that she says, “Well, I’m coming with you.”

“No,” Sharon says.

“No?” Jinkx repeats, surprised.

“If I’m gone, you’re the only one I can leave in charge. Besides, you can’t shoot for shit.”

“You’re not going alone,” Jinkx says stubbornly, and Sharon raises an eyebrow.

“And who would you suggest I bring? Morgan still can’t ride a fucking horse.”

“Detox,” Jinkx shoots back. “She’s always been sensible in things like this.”

“Detox tore her stitches for the third time yesterday,” Sharon says drily. “Sensibility won’t get her anywhere if she’s too busy bleeding out.”

Jinkx scowls. “Willam.”

“Willam has wanted posters up everywhere,” Sharon points out. “I’m pretty sure my mother had a framed picture of her.”

“ _You_ have wanted posters everywhere!” Jinkx exclaims, incredulous. “You can’t even go into _Coady!_ And Coady doesn’t care if you’ve murdered the county sheriff!”

“I - well,” Sharon says, stumbling. “I’m going. One wanted woman is enough - two is just asking for trouble.”

“I guess that gets rid of our resident celebrity,” Jinkx mutters, glancing back at Alyssa. “Katya, then. No one cares about another European immigrant - they’re a dime a dozen.”

“I’m not taking the only person who knows how to stitch up a wound,” Sharon says quickly, and Jinkx’s lips tighten.

“I would argue that you’re going to need her more,” she says, worry creating a new edge to her voice, and Sharon shakes her head.

“It’s not happening,” she says, and Jinkx huffs in frustration, tears coming to her eyes.

“You’re not going alone,” she says. “I don’t care if you think we need Katya more, you’re not going to sneak someone you’ve met a grand total of three times out of a _jail cell_ by yourself.”

Alaska tunes out Sharon’s response, her mind racing. She can’t convince her to stay, not when she doesn’t know anything about anything, it seems, and if _Jinkx_ can’t convince her to take anyone, Alaska certainly can’t. Maybe if one of the girls volunteered themselves, Sharon would have a harder time–

Wait.

“I’ll go,” Alaska says, interrupting a heated response from Sharon and earning two sets of wide eyes staring at her.

“What?” Jinkx says, and Alaska nods, resolution building in her gut.

“I’ll go,” she repeats, voice a little louder. “No one knows who I am - they won’t even think twice when they see me. And I’m decent with a gun.”

Sharon snorts a disbelieving laugh at that, but Jinkx frowns at her, expression considering. “You’re sure?” she asks, and Alaska nods.

“I’m going.”

Sharon shakes her head, her expression sobering as Jinkx raises an eyebrow at her. “No. It’s too dangerous - she can’t shoot, she doesn’t know what she’s doing, and she fucked up the last little adventure she went on!”

“Please,” Alaska says, a little hurt. “The plan isn’t to shoot anyone, right?”

“That’s what you said last time,” Sharon says sharply. “Shit happens.”

“Well, fuck me if I want to make sure you’re alright!” Alaska snaps, and Sharon’s face softens slightly.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” she says, voice still hard. “This is more than robbing a carriage full of unarmed people - these are armed men with an active agenda against me, and I’m going right into the bear’s den. You’re not going.”

“Exactly,” Jinkx cuts in, before Alaska can shoot an answer back. “And if you get hurt, I want someone there who can get you the fuck away before anything worse happens.”

Alaska’s stomach bottoms out at the thought, and she doubles down on her stance. She can’t control Sharon, but she can control how much she can help keep her from getting hurt. She’s going.

Something must show on her face, because Sharon falls silent, rolling her lips between her teeth. It’s when she pinches the bridge of her nose that Alaska knows she’s giving in.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” Sharon says, irritated. She glares at the two of them. “You two aren’t allowed to talk to each other anymore.”

“Oh, thank you lord Jesus,” Jinkx breathes, and Alaska feels relief break over her, soothing her worry at least somewhat.

“I can’t believe I’m letting you come,” Sharon says, glancing at Alaska with concern. “Fuck.”

“I’ll be fine,” Alaska says, and she slides her fingers between Sharon’s, her heart beating a little faster as she initiates the contact. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to this freedom. “We’ll have each other.”

Sharon squeezes her fingers, still looking wary despite the small smile she gives Alaska. “At least there’s that.”

🌸

“I didn’t think Colorado got this hot,” Alaska whines, draping herself dramatically over Peaches’ neck. “I can’t believe you packed four blankets.”

“Enjoy it while you can,” Sharon says from beside her, raising her eyebrows. “You’ll be longing for it once the sun sets and we’re freezing our tits off.”

They’d left around four hours ago, and the late afternoon sunlight has them in what feels like an oven, the dry air only making the sun’s beams that much hotter. Katya had once again lent Alaska her hat, providing her with some shade, but that was the extent of mercy she’d been given - the rest of her is soaked with sweat, and she’s pretty sure she’ll have sunburn by the time they stop for rest.

It takes two days to get to Honard. Alaska just might die of heatstroke before they get to the actual danger.

“You’re one to talk,” Alaska says bitterly. “You’re not even sweating.”

“I think you’ve forgotten that my skin is leather,” Sharon says, and Alaska snorts.

“And I think you’ve forgotten that joke isn’t funny,” she says, and Sharon laughs. Alaska smiles at the sound - it makes the heat tolerable.

“Most of my jokes aren’t,” Sharon says. “You’ll have to get used to it.”

“Easier said than done,” Alaska says drily.

Sharon snorts. “I don’t think– hold on,” she says, voice suddenly wary.

She abruptly pulls Cerrone off the road, and Alaska follows, her heart already thumping against her ribcage. She looks ahead to see someone heading towards them on the road, but from the looks of him, it isn’t anyone dangerous. She frowns, pulling up to walk by Sharon’s side once again.

“What is it?” she asks, eyes still on the man. “I don’t think he’s a cop.”

“He probably isn’t,” Sharon says, but her tone is still very much serious. “But I still don’t want him to see our faces. Lower your hat.”

Alaska obeys, still frowning. If he isn’t a cop–

 _Bounties_ , she realizes, as Sharon pulls her own hat lower. Even a poor farmer - maybe _especially_ a poor farmer - would seize the chance to catch a bounty if it was sitting right in front of them.

As they near the man, neither slowing in pace, Alaska holds her breath.

They pass with little fanfare, each raising a silent hand in greeting, and Alaska lets out the breath she’d been holding, relief sending goosebumps down her arms. She ignores the frown the man had given Sharon - women riding alone is unusual, after all.

Wishful thinking, as you know, is useless when it comes to danger.

“Hey, wait!” the man says, and Alaska’s heart stops. “Aren’t you-?”

“ _Go!_ ” Sharon snarls, and she digs her heels into Cerrone’s sides. Alaska is close behind her, keeping pace as they fly across the barren hills, mountains seemingly stagnant beside them.

A gunshot echoes off the mountains, startling the horses, and Alaska knows that they’re being chased. It’s utterly terrifying, and she digs her heels even harder into Peaches’ sides despite the horse already going as fast as she can.

“Fuck!” Sharon hisses as a bullet bursts into the dirt right beside her, sending Cerrone into a frenzy, and she suddenly stops, Alaska speeding past her before she’s even realized what’s happened.

A third gunshot echoes, and Alaska feels the blood drain from her face, her heart in her throat as she yanks on Peaches’ reins, adrenaline giving her more strength than she would have had otherwise.

By the time she gets Peaches to slow, turning her around despite her own instinct to just keep running, she finds Sharon swinging off of a nervous Cerrone, revolver in hand. The man lies on the ground, clutching his leg as his own horse flees, leaving a trail of dirt in its wake.

Alaska’s stomach dips as she realizes what Sharon is about to do.

“Sharon!” Alaska shouts, sliding down from her saddle and sprinting towards the other woman, feeling much faster with the adrenaline running through her. “Don’t!”

“Don’t _what_?” Sharon snaps, whirling around. Alaska eyes the man, but he seems too busy trying to staunch the bleeding in his leg to raise his gun again. “Do exactly what he was just trying to do to me?”

“He’s no one, Sharon,” Alaska says, reaching Sharon and grabbing her wrists. Sharon jerks away, clearly furious, but Alaska holds fast. “He’s taken care of. You made a _promise._ ”

“Please,” the man says, tears of pain streaming down his face. “I just needed the money. Nothin’ personal.”

“Nothing _personal_?” Sharon says incredulously, and Alaska shoots the man a warning look. He doesn’t seem to get it.

“I have a wife. Children.”

“Do you have valuables?” Sharon sneers.

Alaska relaxes somewhat - Sharon seems to be backing down. Alaska doesn’t know what she would do if Sharon hadn’t listened to her - hadn’t kept her word.

The man squeezes his eyes shut, sweat streaming down his face. “Please, I–”

“Because I want to take something from you,” Sharon tells him, voice dangerously low, “and the other option is your life.”

“Yes! Yes, I have somethin’! Please, don’t shoot me,” he says desperately, and he grabs something around his neck, snapping the chain and hurling it at Alaska. His hand immediately goes back to his thigh.

Alaska picks the locket up from the dirt, ignoring the blood stuck to it and sticking it into Sharon’s hand. “It’s a locket,” she says, and Sharon’s face flickers strangely.

“This is it, huh?” Sharon says, her voice suddenly a lot quieter.

“It’s all I have,” the man says. “There’s a picture of my family in there - please, I’m sure you don’t want it, and it’s the only–”

“Here,” Sharon says, anger suddenly cooled, and to Alaska’s shock, she tosses the necklace back at the man. It bounces off of his chest. “Keep it. It’s worthless.”

“It’s worth something, I swear!” the man says, growing more distressed. “Please don’t–”

“I won’t kill you, Jesus!” Sharon snaps, and the man falls silent. Sharon looks at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Alaska holds her breath.

“Consider this a warning,” Sharon finally says, and Alaska lets out the breath she’d been holding. Sharon starts back towards Cerrone, that strange expression still on her face. Alaska follows silently, burning with questions and casting the man one last glance. He seems too surprised to speak.

Alaska feels the same, the sudden deescalation making the air seem unsteady and strange. Was this because of her? Maybe the lack of killing, but not the strange mood shift. It had to have been the locket, which–

The locket Alaska had found suddenly comes to mind, and the same questions suddenly worm their way back into Alaska’s mind as she mounts Peaches, the eyes of the woman in the picture holding secrets Alaska is dying to know.

That locket means _something,_ and she intends to find out what.

“Why?” she asks Sharon, as they start moving again, leaving the man behind to figure out a way to get back home without his horse. Alaska can’t bring herself to feel guilty. A dark part of her even suggests that Sharon should have taken the locket anyway, as a form of some retribution - she finds that without the fear that Sharon will kill anyone, anger burns inside her, as well, a desire for vengeance.

She ignores the feeling.

For a moment, Sharon looks like she’s going to fling a barb at Alaska, before she suddenly slumps, looking tired. “I made a promise. You said I was better than murder,” she says, and Alaska startles at the reminder. “And you were right. I’m glad I didn’t kill him.”

It’s not the whole truth, but Alaska doesn’t dare to push for more. Not when Sharon’s looking at her with that unreadable expression, a glowing warmth filling her chest. She’d kept her word. Alaska loves her.

“I’m glad you didn’t either.”

🌸

“Fire really is man’s greatest invention,” Alaska sighs as the pile of dead brush Sharon’s been messing with for fifteen minutes finally catches, reaching her hands out to the warmth of the small flame. The night had brought a bitter chill along with it, and after around an hour of riding in it and several slices of dried meat, Sharon had decided to call it a day.

“Well, a woman made this one,” Sharon says, and Alaska rolls her eyes.

“Have you ever actually picked up a book?”

“I know how to read, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It’s not, but that’s good to know.”

“Wealthy people are the only ones with time to read, anyway.”

“Tell that to Jinkx,” Alaska snorts.

“Fine. Jinkx and wealthy people are the only ones with time to read,” Sharon amends, an amused smirk curling at the corner of her mouth. “I read a lot as a kid, though.”

Alaska immediately perks up at the mention of Sharon’s past, and she suddenly doesn’t know how to reply - she doesn’t want to accidentally make Sharon close off again. “You did?” she goes with, just to be safe.

“All the time. It was all I ever did,” Sharon laughs, leaning back on her hands to look at the fire. “My mother hated me.”

“Mine did too,” Alaska says, unable to help the crooked smile that crawls across her face. “Although it was more about playing in the dirt than reading books. She would have loved it if I were a little more studious.”

“Jesus, I wasn’t _studious,_ ” Sharon snorts. “I read _Little Women_ and thought I could do whatever I wanted.”

“And now you can. Looks like your wish came true,” Alaska teases, but Sharon’s smile fades.

“Not in the way that I’d wanted.”

They lapse into silence, and Alaska stares into the fire, thousands of questions burning on her tongue. This is her chance to ask one - she just has to make sure it’s the right one. She itches to probe more into Sharon’s childhood, into what went wrong and why she’s here, but Sharon’s skittish defense everytime Alaska brings up her past outside of being an outlaw has Alaska hesitating.

She risks a glance at Sharon, who appears deep in thought, a slight crease between her brows and her eyes far away. Alaska scoots a little closer. Maybe she’ll ask something safe, first, to test the waters.

“What did Kameron do for you?” she asks softly.

Sharon blinks like she’s confused, looking over at Alaska with a frown on her face. “What?”

“You mentioned owing her,” Alaska says, trying not to get irritated. It’s not like Sharon is acting clueless on purpose. “What do you owe her for?”

A strange expression crosses Sharon’s face. “Nothing.”

“Nothing,” Alaska repeats, voice flat.

“I’ve only met her a few times,” Sharon elaborates, “and two of those involved a couple of drinks at a bar and nothing else. The other was a funeral. She hasn’t done anything for me, and I certainly haven’t done anything for her.” Her tone suddenly grows bitter, and unease swirls in Alaska’s stomach as an unpleasant idea comes to mind.

“You didn’t - you didn’t do anything _to_ her, did you?”

There’s a long pause. “No,” Sharon says finally, but there’s a strange lack of conviction in her tone.

There’s another long pause in which Alaska waits for her to continue, but as it becomes evident that she never will, irritation pops in her chest like a bubble.

“You _have_ to give me more than that,” she says, abruptly louder, and Sharon jumps a little. “Sharon, this is _ridiculous_.”

Sharon sits up, a warning expression on her face. “What is?”

“Are you kidding me?” Alaska cries. “All I know about you is that you used to read and you have a baby brother buried somewhere! And both of those were unprompted!”

“Maybe that should tell you something about asking, then!”

“I doubt you’re going to give me your life’s story unprompted, Sharon!”

“I don’t _have_ to give you my life’s story,” Sharon snaps, a familiar defensiveness creeping in on the edges of her expression. “You don’t want it, no matter how much you think you do.”

“I _do_ want it,” Alaska says earnestly, grabbing Sharon’s hands. “I want to know everything there is to know about you. I want to know where you came from, what you like, what you hate, why you act the way you do - I _love_ you, Sharon, and there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence, and realization dawns on Alaska as she stares into Sharon’s shocked face. “Um - I mean – I just got a little– I just meant–”

“I’ll tell you,” Sharon says, and then she takes in a deep breath, like she hadn’t meant to say it. Alaska stares at her, her face still warm.

“You’ll tell me?”

“I–” Sharon cuts herself off, and her hands squeeze Alaska’s briefly. “I’ll tell you. Just - just _promise_ me that you’ll say it again when I’m done.”

“I will,” Alaska says without hesitation, and Sharon looks her in the eyes, her expression strange. It takes Alaska a moment to realize that she’s afraid.

“ _Promise,_ ” she says, and Alaska nods, her heartbeat quickening. What the hell could Sharon possibly be so afraid of?

“I promise,” Alaska says. “I promise I’ll still love you.” She can’t truly promise this, but she prays that she can hold to it. Her love suddenly feels so strong, so powerful - she feels like she would break down mountains with her bare hands for the woman in front of her.

She can hold to it.

Sharon swallows audibly, and as she begins, her hands squeeze Alaska’s so tightly that she’s afraid she’ll have bruises once Sharon lets go. She can’t bring herself to care, Sharon’s story the only thing she can focus on.

“It all has to do with Chad,” Sharon starts, voice a little shaky. “Chad Michaels. She saved me.” Sharon takes another breath. “She’s so goddamn entangled in my life - nothing will make sense unless I start at the beginning.”

She stops, clearly hesitant. Alaska hums in encouragement, and Sharon’s eyes drop down to the ground as she continues.

“I got married when I was eighteen. He was a well known banker in our town and he asked my parents for my hand before he even asked me.”

Alaska shouldn’t be surprised to hear that Sharon had been married - it’s nearly unavoidable. But some part of her had thought Sharon to be above it all, had thought that she had been the woman sitting in front of her since the day she was born. That idea is starting to crumble, now.

“My family needed help - we had too many bad years to recover very well. So, I married him, and I moved into his house. It was fine for a week, but I guess the idea of a ‘headstrong woman’ grew less attractive the longer we were together,” Sharon says, expression growing dark. “It got to the point where he would hit me if I spoke first. He wouldn’t listen when I said–” Sharon stops, clearly overwhelmed and breathing heavily.

Alaska blinks away her tears, her own breathing quickening. “Sharon,” she says quietly, suddenly sick to her stomach. “Sharon, you don’t have to–”

“I want to,” Sharon says, voice growing stronger. “I’m going to.”

Alaska doesn’t know if _she_ wants it any longer, every word of Sharon’s feeling like a knife twisting in her chest, but she nods. She asked for this, and if Sharon wants to stop, she can.

“Things were bad,” Sharon sums up, and Alaska lets out a watery laugh.

“Sounds like an understatement.”

Sharon cracks a small smile, and Alaska nearly cries with relief at the sight of it. “That’s because it is,” she says, letting out a breath.

“Did you ever report him?” Alaska asks, anger slowly making its way into her chest the longer she looks at Sharon’s face. She wants vengeance on this man she’s never met - Sharon has to have wanted it more.

Sharon’s eyebrow twitches strangely. “No,” she says, after a moment. “I never did.”

“Why not?” Alaska asks, beginning to get worked up. “He was - you just took it?”

Guilt instantly spikes in her stomach at the hurt in Sharon’s expression, and she scrambles to remove it. “No,” she amends quickly, tightening her grip on Sharon’s hands before she can pull them away. “You wouldn’t have if you didn’t have to. I’m sorry. He just–”

“Deserves to fucking rot in hell?” Sharon snorts, voice bitter. “I know. But life isn’t fair.”

“How did you get out, then? Did you run?”

“It was Chad,” Sharon says, her lips curling into a small smile at the name. “She - I was with Lucas for a year. He would send me out to the general store for tobacco pretty often, and it was there that I met Chad. I don’t remember how, but we started talking, and she somehow figured out what was going on. I think she asked one question about it and I immediately started crying in the store like some child.” Sharon laughs. “She was clearly different - she was wearing pants and she had a gun stuck to her hip. She invited me to leave town with her. I accepted. She even offered to kill Lucas for me, but I told her not to. I regret it now.”

Alaska remains silent, unable to bring herself to argue - she finds herself agreeing, even though she knows she shouldn’t. Why should Sharon have mercy when clearly, he had none? What’s just in that?

“We ran around for three years like two idiots,” Sharon says, smiling fondly. “She was like a mother to me. We had matching lockets - I think that’s what you found, last night.”

Regal eyes flash across Alaska’s memory, and she nods, raising her eyebrows. “Why don’t you wear it?” she asks, before she can really think about it, and guilt is just barely beginning to plunge into her stomach when Sharon finally answers after a long beat.

“Looking at her makes me feel guilty,” she says, voice quiet again. “She’s dead.”

Alaska tries not to jolt with surprise at Sharon’s blunt tone. “It’s not your fault,” she says automatically, and Sharon glares.

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Did you shoot her?” Alaska asks pointedly, and Sharon shakes her head. “Then it’s not your fault.”

“You’ll change your mind once I tell you I was the one who convinced Chad to join forces with Lawrence Solomon,” Sharon snaps, and Alaska’s worry spikes when she sees that there are tears in her eyes. “I didn’t even trust him - we just needed money, and he was the easiest way to it. A fucking robbery,” she snorts disparagingly. “Split evenly down the middle. It’s so obvious now that it was a set up.”

“You’re acting like Chad couldn’t have said no,” Alaska says gently, but Sharon barrels on, seemingly deaf to her point.

“I fucking - I threatened to go in with him on my own even if Chad didn’t want to. She was so concerned–” Sharon sucks in another deep breath. “Long story short, we robbed a carriage - a fucking _carriage -_ and I watched as he shot her in the– I ran.” Sharon takes another deep breath, clearly trying her best to keep her tears at bay, her expression crumpling. “I abandoned her, Alaska, and the least I can do to make up for it is to be there for her daughter. I–”

Alaska cuts her off with a kiss, anger and relief driving it with force - anger, because Sharon blaming herself for this is the stupidest thing she’s ever heard, and relief, because _Sharon blaming herself for this is the stupidest thing she’s ever heard._

She breaks off the kiss to look Sharon in the eyes. The other woman looks conflicted, hope and uncertainty in her expression. “I love you, Sharon Needles,” Alaska tells her, and it feels so freeing to say, “and none of that was your fault.”

Sharon looks like she disagrees, holding her breath for a short moment. “You just–”

“Shut up,” Alaska says, unwilling to tolerate any more. “I love you.”

Sharon looks at her for a long time, dried tear tracks on her cheeks to match Alaska’s. She clearly still doesn’t believe Alaska, but her expression shifts suddenly, like despite her disagreement, it doesn’t matter anymore.

“I love you too, Lasky,” she says softly, the warmth that Alaska has been seeing in her gaze for a week now shining out of her face.

It’s the best thing Alaska’s ever heard. It floods her with a happiness she’s never experienced, an elation that makes her feel like she could fly.

She grins, cheeks hurting from how hard she’s smiling, and she pulls Sharon into another, deeper, kiss.

She feels like she could burst with happiness, with warmth - she wants to hold Sharon tight and never let go, she wants to scream her love from the mountain tops, she wants to go anywhere and everywhere with this woman.

She’s in love. She’s loved. She could conquer the world.

As they gently fall over onto the ground, Alaska’s hands in Sharon’s hair and Sharon’s hands somewhere up her shirt, Alaska feels closer to this woman than she’s ever been to anyone.

She’s starting to understand why Sharon had reacted to the robbery the way she had - she can only hope that this mission goes more smoothly.

It has to. Alaska’s too wrapped up in Sharon to even consider the alternative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed!!!!
> 
> the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6xuTbkNvtHC6By0k4D66gP?si=PoH3XXRWRyaC8HU28YS7nw
> 
> tumblr: @narcoleptic-drag-queen


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ”I’m not afraid to die like a man fighting, but I would not like to be killed like a dog unarmed.” – Billy the Kid in a letter to Governor Lew Wallace, March 1879

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your lovely comments last chapter, they mean a lot <3
> 
> Thank you to Frey, who looked at this despite her terrible, no good, very bad week. 
> 
> Thank you to Barbie, for the most perfect playlist in the world: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4UML6wa3XO7H745sWBvQfD?si=cA4c3K5xQqCBFTiRwJq9CA
> 
> And apologies for any emotional distress this may cause!! Hope you enjoy

Alaska wakes up before Sharon.

It’s early - the sky is still fairly dark, the world around them cast in the grayish blue of dawn, and the air has a sharp chill to it. She snuggles further into Sharon’s warmth to avoid it, surprised. Sharon’s usually up before her, usually out of the tent before she even opens her eyes - but with the emotional turmoil of last night, Alaska supposes it makes sense to see her still out cold.

The thought of last night has Alaska’s emotions still in overdrive - anger, protectiveness, curiosity, sympathy, sadness, _relief_ \- it feels like the entire spectrum of feeling is swirling around in her gut, and all she can do about it is wrap her arms a little more tightly around the root cause of them.

She’s still burning with questions. She wants to know what happened to Lucas. If nothing did happen, she wants to do something about it. She wants to know what Sharon did after running from Solomon, wants to hear about how she picked herself back up and made the camp Alaska has come to love. She wants to know about Sharon’s childhood, wants to know about her parents, wants to know anything and _everything_.

She knows not to push, knows that just because Sharon’s been vulnerable about one thing, doesn’t mean she’ll be vulnerable about everything. It doesn’t at all soothe her need to know, however, and she’d had to bite her tongue last night as they’d fallen asleep.

She can piece together some answers. She can assume that Sharon’s nightmare the previous night had been about Chad, and that it had gotten conflated with Phi Phi’s interruption of the carriage robbery they’d just done. The funeral Sharon had mentioned meeting Kameron at was presumably Chad’s, so there had at least been some closure. But how had it happened? Had Sharon told Kameron herself? Had–

Sharon shifts, and Alaska holds her breath as she settles again, sighing into Alaska’s collarbone. Alaska relaxes when Sharon stops moving, seemingly still fast asleep, and she finds that she’s lost her train of thought.

It’s probably for the best. Theorizing is pointless, anyway - it only leads to more questions.

But then again–

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Sharon says, and Alaska flinches violently.

“Jesus!” she snaps, as Sharon pulls back to prop herself up on her elbows. Her hair is adorably messy, but Alaska’s heart is still pounding too hard to focus much on it. “How could you possibly know that?”

“I have my ways,” Sharon says vaguely, and Alaska makes a note to tell Jinkx about Sharon’s sudden ability to read minds.

“You know, there are rumors about you being a witch,” she says, and Sharon laughs.

“I could prove them,” she says. “I can guess what you were thinking about.”

Alaska narrows her eyes, unable to keep a smile from tugging at the corners of her mouth in anticipation of a joke. “Prove it.”

Sharon rolls her eyes up to the sky, like she’s thinking hard. “You were thinking… about last night.”

Alaska feels surprise jolt her the rest of the way awake. “How did you–”

“Possibly regretting letting me off the hook so easily,” Sharon finishes, her tone still light, but sadness sinks in Alaska’s chest as she frowns at the other woman.

“Well, you certainly aren’t a witch,” she says gently. “Because that was _astoundingly_ incorrect.”

“You don’t regret what you said?” Sharon asks, doubt coloring her tone.

“What?”

There’s a pause. “About loving me,” Sharon says, voice quieter. “Now that you’ve had a chance to think–”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t have - why would have I said that if I didn’t mean it?” Alaska asks, urgency making her tone a little sharp.

“Because you promised you would,” Sharon says, matching her tone. “You might have felt–”

“I wouldn’t lie to you about that,” Alaska says. “Not for a promise, not for anything. I love you.”

“Well, you certainly don’t think I’m blameless,” Sharon argues. “Unless love really _is_ blind.”

Alaska raises an eyebrow. “That had better be a joke.”

Sharon lets out a breath, deflating. “The last part was,” she says, reaching out for Alaska’s hand. Alaska threads their fingers together, although she’s not entirely satisfied with that answer.

“But not the first part?” she asks, and Sharon rolls her lips between her teeth.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” she says, and protective anger balls up in Alaska’s chest.

“There’s nothing to blame you for,” she says, a little heated. “I don’t see why you’re so eager to have me think that there is.”

Sharon only seems to double down on her stance. “Because I want to make sure that you understand _exactly_ what you’re committing to.”

“I’m not in denial, Sharon,” Alaska tells her, softening. “I know what I’m saying, and I mean it. You don’t have to worry.”

“I do,” Sharon says, “I made a mistake with Solomon. You can’t deny that I didn’t have _something_ to do with what happened.”

“Just because you made a bad judgement call doesn’t mean you killed Chad,” Alaska says, and Sharon’s expression spasms at her blunt tone.

“The guilt I feel _constantly_ tells me otherwise,” Sharon snaps out. “Not that you would understand.”

“I know guilt, Sharon,” Alaska says, angry and a little hurt. She squeezes Sharon’s hand in warning. “Don’t fucking act like I don’t know what that is.”

“What do you possibly have to be guilty for?” Sharon asks, frowning. “You’ve been forced into everything you’ve done since you got here.”

“Don’t play dumb,” Alaska says, but the force of it is weakened as she second guesses herself. Jinkx had to have told Sharon about her mother - she can’t imagine secrets being kept between them, especially about a woman with debatable loyalties - not that that’s the case anymore.

There’s a moment of silence as Sharon very clearly wracks her memory, a line still between her eyebrows. “Is this about Phi Phi’s gang?” she asks, and her tone tells Alaska that she doubts any guilt she might feel about that. She would be right to, if she’d guessed correctly.

“You can’t tell me Jinkx didn’t tell you,” Alaska says, a strange feeling filling her chest.

“Tell me what?” Sharon says, and now she sounds concerned, shifting closer to Alaska. “Did something happen?”

“No, nothing happened,” Alaska says vaguely, lost in thought. “At least, nothing you don’t already know about.”

Jinkx hadn’t told Sharon. It sounds absurd - why wouldn’t she? She and Sharon are close - closer than Alaska is with either of them, if she’s being honest with herself. If Sharon had told Jinkx about Alaska’s experience with consumption, it would have been the perfect opportunity to share the rest. She supposes there wouldn’t be any reason other than gossip to tell Sharon, but she hadn’t put it past Jinkx to whisper her secrets anyway, due to either friendship or leadership.

The feeling in her chest, she’s realizing, is gratitude, along with a shocked pleasure.

“Not even after I told you about - I thought you and Jinkx shared everything,” Alaska says, still surprised. Sharon’s expression softens with sudden understanding.

“We don’t tell each other things told in confidence,” Sharon says. “Not when they’re serious, and not when they aren’t necessary to know.”

Alaska abruptly realizes that she hasn’t been as vulnerable with Sharon as she’d thought - right now, the power is all on her side. Sharon has told her so much; Alaska hasn’t shared anything more than her mother dying and her father’s plans for marriage. It’s at once strangely thrilling and utterly hypocritical, and Alaska finds herself more than willing to reciprocate Sharon’s vulnerability.

She doesn’t want power. She wants a lover - a friend.

“Well,” Alaska says, her heart suddenly pounding as she stares at her own mistakes in the face. Fear suddenly blossoms within her: what if Sharon condemns her? She’s already so harsh on herself, why wouldn’t she look down on Alaska for such a shallow decision?

She takes a deep breath, calming herself down. Even if Sharon does blame her, she owes the woman this admission. “We talked, while we were waiting for Katya to save you from your infection.”

She pauses to gather her thoughts, and Sharon’s lips part in sudden understanding. “Your mother,” she says, furrowing her brow. “She was sick. That must have been– Alaska, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Alaska says, although the apology still makes her chest fill with fondness. She squeezes Sharon’s hand. “It wasn’t - she was locked in a bedroom for months, Sharon. I wasn’t allowed to see my mother for _months._ And I–” Alaska sucks in a shaky breath. “I chose not to see her when the doctor told us she was going to die.”

“Jesus,” Sharon breathes, and Alaska squeezes her eyes shut, willing the tears away. Instead, she gets a few running down her cheeks.

“I know what being too scared feels like,” she continues, thinking about how frightened Sharon must have been when she’d turned tail and ran after Solomon killed her closest friend. She thinks about herself at age nine, staring at that closed door and being too afraid to open it, the smell of antiseptic already making her lightheaded. “I know what kind of guilt it brings.”

She jumps a little when Sharon’s hand suddenly cups her face, her thumb gently wiping at one of the tears still dripping down Alaska’s cheek. Alaska leans into the touch, relief a gentle balm over the agitation of confessing. “You didn’t abandon Chad,” Alaska says, her voice wobbly. “Not in the way I abandoned my mother.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sharon says, her tender expression softening the harsh words. “You had to have been a child. And what could you have done? Figured out how to cure consumption in two hours? I could have shot Solomon where he stood, but instead, I ran. I was _twenty-two_. I could have–”

“Who’s being stupid now?” Alaska interrupts, and Sharon stares at her for a moment before snorting, a wry smile on her face.

“This isn’t how you play the blame game,” she says, and Alaska huffs a laugh.

“Maybe we should stop, then,” she says, shrugging. “Blame everything on men and leave it at that.”

Sharon cackles. “See!” she says, grinning. “You’re learning!” She lets go of Alaska’s hand to cup the other side of her face, giving her a chaste kiss on the lips. Alaska still feels butterflies explode in her stomach at the gesture, although she isn’t shy about giving Sharon a once over when she stands, stretching.

“I believe the view is over there,” Sharon teases, waving over at the hazy blue mountains looming over them. Alaska smirks.

“I’ve got a prettier one right in front of me,” she says, and Sharon winks, although she’s not quite able to hide the blush that dusts her cheeks. It only makes Alaska’s butterflies go into overdrive.

They lapse into silence as Sharon starts kicking dust over the embers of the fire, beginning the process of packing up camp. Alaska’s butterflies start to fade as she thinks back over the conversation, wondering at how well her broken pieces seem to fit in with Sharon’s. Is that why she’d gotten Sharon to open up? But if it was, why hadn’t Sharon opened up when Alaska had first discussed her mother’s illness?

“When I told you about my mother,” Alaska says into the quiet, “after the robbery, you said you couldn’t imagine losing one. But you can.”

Sharon turns to look at her, expression serious. “Chad wasn’t–”

“Bullshit,” Alaska says, although there’s a lack of bite behind the words. “You even said she was like a mother to you. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“We’d just had sex,” Sharon snorts, picking up one of the blankets and starting to roll it. Alaska’s heart jumps at the word. “I didn’t want to _completely_ ruin the mood.”

“So you didn’t want to tell me,” Alaska concludes, and Sharon sighs, the amusement draining out of her face and her eyes glued to the blanket in her hands.

“I didn’t,” she says. “I wasn’t ready to. It would have – well, it would have turned into last night. I didn’t want to scare you away.”

“What was so different about last night?” Alaska asks, intrigued.

“What is this, an interrogation?” Sharon asks, growing defensive, and Alaska stands to take the blanket from her, brushing her hands as she does.

“It’s not,” she says gently. “And you know it.”

There’s a beat of silence as Sharon’s eyes flick over Alaska’s face, looking for something. She must find it, because her expression suddenly relaxes, softening. “You’d just told me you loved me,” she says. “I wanted it to be real, and it wouldn’t have been if you didn’t know.”

“It would have,” Alaska says, her heart breaking a little. “But thank you for telling me.”

Sharon suddenly lets out a soft laugh, wiping her eyes. “I swear, you’re just trying to get me crying again. I doubt Kameron will have much hope if I show up with puffy red eyes.”

Alaska’s heart dips at the mention of their mission, reminded suddenly that this isn’t just some escapade for her and Sharon to honeymoon on. “What’s the plan?” she asks, and Sharon quickly finishes rolling the blanket, stacking it on top of the one Alaska’s already holding.

“I’ll tell you on the way there. For now, we have to focus on leaving quickly - we’re lucky we woke up this early. We’ve spent enough time crying at each other as it is.”

Alaska snorts, heading over to secure the blankets on the back of Cerrone’s saddle. A sudden thought comes to mind as she does, spotting Sharon’s long rifle sticking out of its saddle holster. “Do you think we’ll run into any more men desperate for money?” she asks, anxiety creeping up her spine.

“I hope not,” Sharon says, “for their sake. I don’t have much mercy left in me.”

“Did you in the first place?” Alaska asks, reminded of her curiosity after Sharon had left their attacker alive, albeit severely wounded.

Sharon lets out a breath, clearly thinking. “Not at first,” she finally says. “But I told you: I keep my promises, and this one paid off.” Again, Alaska feels a rush of pleasure at the admission - she feels trusted, listened to - she feels _important._

“But how?” Alaska pushes. “How did it pay off?”

“I would have shot him,” Sharon says bluntly, and Alaska feels her eyebrow twitch with some surprise. “I would have looted his body. And then I would have found that locket, and I would have seen his child, or his wife, and suddenly I would have killed a father, a husband - not a murderer.”

Satisfaction has Alaska smirking a little, relief and something like pride in Sharon only serving to make it sweeter. “So,” she drawls, raising an eyebrow, “you could say that violence isn’t always the answer?”

Sharon looks at her, amused. “Maybe not always,” she says, her eyebrows creeping up her forehead. “But it is more than it isn’t.”

A question comes to Alaska’s tongue, making her mouth dry with the anticipation of asking it. She doesn’t want to make Sharon angry, but she feels like she’s got her in a good spot to discuss it. It may be her only chance. “Maybe that’s why Phi Phi’s brought us a peace treaty,” she says slowly, watching Sharon’s reaction.

“Maybe that’s why _Solomon_ has brought us a peace treaty,” Sharon corrects, although she doesn’t seem as angry as Alaska had feared. “And it’s bullshit, just like everything else he’s done.”

“Maybe things have changed for him,” Alaska suggests, thinking of how earnest Phi Phi had looked each time she’d presented it to them. “Maybe he needs this. I think we should take the chance.”

“I’m _never_ taking another chance with Solomon,” Sharon says, voice suddenly sharp, and Alaska winces at her blunder.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says. “I’m sorry. I just think we should consider it.”

Sharon’s face softens just slightly with forgiveness, and Alaska continues, emboldened.

“No more bloodshed. No more danger. It’s an attractive offer, Sharon, and one that can’t just be dismissed,” she says, feeling the passion of her words deep within her. “Peace is always the best answer.”

“Not always,” Sharon says again, but then she looks at Alaska, considering. “Phi Phi _has_ always been a bad actor,” she murmurs, but then she shakes her head. “This is pointless. Help me gather the playing cards - we have to _leave._ ”

Alaska obeys her, falling to her knees to help stack the cards together, glancing up at Sharon’s slight frown every once in a while. She’s planted the seed in Sharon’s mind - that’s enough. For now.

For now, she’ll enjoy the comfort of the other woman while there’s still peace to be had.

🌸

Honard is tiny.

It’s little more than one road, with a few curves here and there and sporting about eight total buildings, each looking more dilapidated than the last. Alaska glances at Sharon as they slow their horses down, preparing to enter.

“This is it?” she asks, and Sharon snorts.

“Pathetic, right?”

“It doesn’t even look like they have a sheriff here,” Alaska says. “Much less the resources for an execution.”

“Every town has a sheriff,” Sharon says, looking grim. “And every town has a piece of rope.”

“Lucky for us, not every town has morals,” Alaska says, and Sharon huffs a laugh.

“No town has morals,” she corrects. “This one just needs money too much to worry about their bloodlust.”

Alaska wants to disagree, Sharon’s jaded tone rubbing her the wrong way despite how justified it is, but she keeps her mouth shut. They’re too close to executing - _ha_ \- the plan to start a disagreement, especially one so entwined with what they’re about to do. Alaska refuses to fuck this up.

The plan is a simple one: Alaska wanders in - alone - with all the rich charm she’d learned from her governess. She flashes one of the wads of money they’d gotten from the carriage, and the lawman sitting behind the desk gives her the key to the cell in return. Sharon had assured her that there would be only one officer to worry about, but she has another stack shoved into her pants as a fall back.

Easy in, easy out. No blood shed.

Alaska still has a nervous shake in her hands as they reach the mouth of the town, however, and she glances at Sharon’s collected expression to calm herself. It works, somewhat.

Alaska expects Honard to be essentially deserted, and it certainly looks that way as they approach the entrance, the post office and the general store acting as gate guardians. Both buildings are dusty, with only a singular trail of footprints going down their dusty steps. As the horses slow down, however, there isn’t a silence like Alaska had been expecting - instead, it sounds like the county fair has just arrived.

“What the fuck?” Sharon snaps as they round the corner, yanking down her hat so that it shadows her face, reacting with a startling quickness to the scene before them. All Alaska can do is stare in complete shock.

Honard is _bustling._

The wide street is packed full of people, all talking excitedly and gathering in large clumps, and horses line the storefronts like sardines. As she keeps staring, however, something begins to feel strange - other than the idea of a town with eight buildings housing over a hundred locals. No one is going into the shops, no one is leaving, and everyone keeps peering at the other end of the street, which is headed by a tiny building with _SHERIFF_ stamped on its front.

“More visitors!” A man hollers at them as they ride past, spitting his chew out onto the dirt in front of him. Alaska wrinkles her nose in disgust.

“What does that mean?” she asks Sharon lowly, and Sharon looks paler than usual under her hat.

“It means half of these people are from out of town,” she says, her tone sharp. “Which means something exciting is happening.”

Alaska feels her heart sink, and she looks around to see a mother teaching her two children how to behave “at an event like this”. Nausea rises to the back of her throat.

“It’s Sunday,” she says. “It can’t be.”

Sharon just shakes her head, her mouth twisting strangely. “Looks like that doesn’t matter to them. I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Alaska refuses to believe it, panic and horror already kick starting her heart. “Hey!” she calls over to the mother, stopping Peaches to allow the woman to walk forward. Sharon copies her, and Alaska can feel the growing anger radiating out behind her as she watches the woman approach.

“There’s an execution going on today?” she asks, and the woman nods, her expression one of untold gossip.

“It’s surprising, innit?” the woman says, widening her eyes in disbelief. “It’s the Lord’s day! But I guess that woman did somethin’ to make it urgent - I think that’s why everyone’s come in. We don’t normally get a crowd like this.”

“Kill a lot of people, do we?” Sharon snaps from behind Alaska, and the woman’s eyebrows shoot up with alarm.

“Well, no more than deserved,” she says, and Alaska shoots Sharon a warning look before turning back to the woman.

“When is it happening?” she asks, and the woman rolls her eyes to the sky, thinking.

“I’d say around an hour? Not long, I’m sure you two…” she trails off, looking them up and down, “… _ladies_ could spare the time? It’s not something you’ll want to miss.”

“Definitely not,” Sharon bites back, and Alaska gives the woman a tight smile as she walks away, a somewhat offended look on her face. Alaska turns to give Sharon a look, but Sharon is staring straight ahead, her jaw clenching.

“Let’s go,” Sharon says, and she taps Cerrone’s sides, still gentle despite the way her hands are clenched around his reins. “We need to get her _out_ of there.”

Alaska follows her lead, but apprehension is beginning to bloom within her, uncertainty making everything feel strange. “What did she _do_?” she asks, and Sharon glances at her.

“Does it matter? She’s not dying for it, no matter what.”

Alaska falls silent, still hesitant. As they make their way through the crowd gathered around the police station, she reminds herself that their plan shouldn’t harm anything but a lawman’s pride. They’re harmless - and if the law decides to take their bribe, she’d say no one can stand on the moral high ground.

Still, as she stares at the anger slowly crossing Sharon’s face as she looks past Alaska to the right, she wonders how long this peaceful plan will last.

“Sharon,” she starts, her stomach doing somersaults. “We’re still following the plan, right?”

Sharon jumps down from Cerrone, tying him quickly to the building’s railings, and Alaska copies her.

“Sharon.”

“They have the noose strung up,” Sharon says quietly, finishing her knot. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

Alaska glances behind her only briefly, but she thinks the image of the noose dangling against the pure blue of the sky will be burned into her mind forever. The pleasant weather seems only an insult to injury.

“We can still do it,” she hisses. “It’s the simplest move, and it’ll still work.”

“The crowd might beg to differ,” Sharon snaps back, her voice hushed. “Our hundred dollars look stupid next to a crowd like that.”

“That’s why we brought two hundred, right?” Alaska asks. This needs to go smoothly. It _has_ to.

Sharon presses her lips together. “Fine. But I’m coming in with you.”

“Fine,” Alaska repeats. “We can do this.”

Sharon doesn’t reply, instead starting up the steps, her hand seemingly unconsciously brushing her holster. Alaska notes the move with a sinking heart, fear cold in her veins.

 _She made a promise,_ she reminds herself, but even the voice in her head is shaky. _She made a promise._

They enter the building to find themselves in a dusty room with two large desks shoved into the front half of it, and a rusty cell dividing the other half. A woman with wavy, honey blonde hair sits on the bench in the far corner behind the bars, and she doesn’t even look up at them as they enter, leaning her head back against the wall with her hat pulled over her face. She has to be Kameron. She looks unbothered, but Alaska has spent enough time around Sharon to understand how convincing a façade can be.

“Hey!” a young man says sharply from one of the desks, standing up. “No civilians!”

Alaska sees Sharon tense, and she quickly responds before Sharon can ruin their chances with her hostility. “Even if we have an offer?”

The young man gives her a strange look. “Pardon?”

“She means money,” a gruff voice says from behind her, and Alaska jumps, turning to find a heavier man with a thick black mustache reclining behind the other desk. His eyes glint with interest, and Alaska feels hope lift her heart a little. “What do you want?”

“I want her out,” she tells him, pointing at Kameron. He raises an eyebrow.

“Why?” he laughs. “You want revenge on her yourself?”

“Does it matter?” Alaska asks, confidence building back up. “I have money, and that’s all you need to know.”

“We’re not letting her out,” the young man says, but the older man - presumably the sheriff - holds up a hand.

“Hold on,” he says. He looks at her sharply. “How much?”

“Two hundred,” she says, and there’s a pause.

The sheriff bursts into laughter. “Do you think we’re idiots?” he asks, and Alaska just looks at him, confused, her heart sinking. He jerks a thumb at Kameron, who’s now looking at them with interest. “We shelled out ten thousand for this one. It’s either that, or we do what we paid to do. ”

“How about I pay nothing to do the same to you?” Sharon asks harshly, and Alaska grabs her arm, her heart rate spiking.

“Sharon–”

“Sharon?” a woman asks, and Alaska and Sharon both turn to find Kameron at the front of the cell. Her face lights up at the sight of Sharon’s face. “You came?”

“What does she mean, you came?” the sheriff asks, standing. “Who the hell are you?”

“We’re–”

“You ever heard of Sharon Needles?” Sharon asks, and her expression is one that Alaska hasn’t seen since the first day they’d met. It feels like she’s looking at a stranger.

The sheriff’s eyes widen. “Son of a–”

A bullet goes straight through the star on his chest, the crack of it making Alaska shriek, startled, and the sheriff falls back into his desk, sending papers flying everywhere.

“Sheriff!” the young man shouts, and Alaska whirls around to find him aiming his gun at them, his hands shaking terribly. “Stand down!”

“Put your gun down,” Sharon says, and Alaska doesn’t miss the way she glances at her. “There’s two of us and one of you.”

“She doesn’t have a gun!” he says, and Alaska hesitates to go for the revolver at her hip, unwilling to escalate things further. “I’m not stupid!”

“You want those to be your last words?”

The young man’s mouth curls with determination. He points his gun straight at Alaska. Alaska’s heart does a swan dive. “I’ll shoot her! Put your gun down!”

“Sharon,” Alaska says quietly, her heart pounding. He won’t do it. Sharon will. “If you shoot him–”

The gunshot is louder than the first, and Alaska watches, shocked into silence, as the young man crumples to the ground like a piece of paper.

Betrayal shoots through Alaska like she’d been the one shot, but she can’t focus on it, not when Sharon’s snagging the keys off of the hook by the sheriff’s desk and shouting instructions, unlocking Kameron’s cell and the other woman shooting out of it to give Sharon a quick hug. Alaska stands stock still in the middle of the floor, staring at the young man’s blood spreading across the floorboards.

“Alaska, we have to _go!_ ” Sharon shouts, and when Alaska doesn’t spring into action, she grabs her hand, yanking her out of the office and into broad daylight. Her grip feels familiar, and Alaska hates it, snatching her hand away as soon as they stop moving.

“What the _fuck_ , Sharon?” she snarls. “Why would you do that?”

“Not the time!” Sharon shouts, pointing her gun, and Alaska is suddenly very aware of the volatile crowd swarming before them.

Men are shouting angrily, the women and children nowhere to be seen ( _I guess an execution is more appropriate than angry men,_ a dark part of Alaska thinks), and more than one of them has a gun. She realizes a moment later that she is one of the people they’re aiming att.

It’s a terrifying feeling.

She feels evil, horrible - she’s a villain, now. There’s no thrill, here, no excitement. Just betrayal and guilt swirling in her gut, and nausea in her throat.

The rest of their escape passes in a blur, Alaska numb to everything but the sinking dread in her stomach and the sharp pain of betrayal every time she looks at Sharon. She feels like her trust has been broken, like Sharon hadn’t even tried, like Alaska’s just been a joke this entire time.

_Sharon Needles always keeps her word._

Bullshit.

🌸

They don’t stop for the night on the way back, all three women too concerned that despite finally leaving the men chasing them behind, they would be sitting ducks if they set up a camp and slept. Sharon had shot three of those men. It feels like salt in a wound.

It’s an exhausting journey, and Alaska spends most of it in her thoughts, hurt and anger filling her chest until she feels like she could burst. Sharon had broken her promise. Sharon had killed a lawman - she had killed at least _five_ innocent people. They’d only been doing their jobs - who _knows_ what Kameron had done to earn that noose?

She ignores the counterarguments that spring to mind, holding onto her anger with a vice-like grip. To be angry about these murders feels justified. It feels like the moral thing to be angry about, and if she isn’t (and she _is,_ she has to be) then all she has to stand on is the fact that a dishonest outlaw had hurt her feelings.

Sharon had broken her promise. Sharon had brushed Alaska’s one stipulation aside like it meant nothing, like it had weighed no more than a feather. It _hurts._ She feels stupid for believing Sharon, stupid for thinking that everything would work out for them, and that hurts even more. She’s furious, and it’s hard not to snap at Sharon even as they ride towards hom– _camp,_ hard not to scream and throw punches and ask _why._ But Kameron’s relieved face stops her - she’s not cruel enough to argue about the morality of rescuing the woman with her there to witness it.

It doesn’t help that Sharon and Kameron spend the journey talking to each other instead of Alaska, Kameron sitting behind Sharon with her arms wrapped around her waist. Alaska can’t hear anything past the wind whistling in her ears and Peaches’ pounding hooves, but she still feels the ghost of her own arms wrapped around Sharon’s waist, from just last night to the first night they’d met, when she was the one behind Sharon, forced to hang on as Sharon cackled at her. She remembers the anger she’d felt that night. It’s nothing compared to what she feels right now.

She catches the grin Sharon sends her way and greets it with disinterest, hot fury boiling in her gut. The hurt look in Sharon’s eyes feels good.

She’s hurt. It’s only fair that Sharon feels it too.

They arrive at camp after around twelve hours of riding, although it feels more like thirty. Alaska barely has time to slide off of Peaches before Sharon’s grabbing her wrist and pulling her to thei- _her_ tent, leaving Jinkx to deal with Kameron’s shy smile.

They’re most of the way there when Alaska finally gathers herself enough to yank her arm out of Sharon’s grip sharply, glaring at the other woman. Sharon stops and looks back at her, her expression indecipherable.

“I don’t need to be led,” Alaska snaps, and Sharon raises an eyebrow.

“Alright,” she says shortly, and she lets Alaska follow her into the tent, immediately moving to light the lantern once they’re inside. If not for the tension she’s carrying in her shoulders, Alaska would assume that she wasn’t bothered at all.

Sharon turns to look at her the moment the lantern is lit, her face cast in shadow.

“You’re mad at me.”

Alaska stares at her for a moment, speechless. She only gets angrier the longer she looks at Sharon’s face, her blankness infuriating. “Do you even know _why?_ ” she bites out, and Sharon’s lip curls with what looks like disgust.

“I can guess.”

“You can _guess?_ ” Alaska repeats, her voice growing louder. “Fucking hell, Sharon, you murdered - you _promised_ me you wouldn’t murder people! You killed a fucking sheriff, you killed that young man–”

“He was going to _shoot_ you, Alaska!” Sharon snaps back, her voice raising defensively. “And what I _promised_ was that I would try my hardest!”

“But you _didn’t_!” Alaska shouts. “You expect me to make these changes for you, Sharon, but you aren’t even willing to _budge_ for me!”

“I hav–”

“The sheriff didn’t do _anything!”_ Alaska continues, barrelling over Sharon’s attempted protest. “You just got up and shot him because _you_ let him recognize you! What kind of sick–”

“Oh, so now I’m sick?” Sharon laughs, the sound angry, and Alaska backs down a little, although anger still thrums beneath her veins.

“You promised me, Sharon, and you broke it,” she says bitingly, trying not to let her hurt show through. “What the fuck happened to keeping your word?”

“I didn’t break my fucking word,” Sharon snaps. “Stop making it about that. You just can’t handle what happened today, and you’re trying to rationalize–”

“He did _nothing_!” Alaska hisses, and Sharon’s lip curls again.

“He was about to murder Kameron. You know, for all you seem to hate about murder, you seem pretty eager to defend a man who’s probably killed more people than I have.”

“Kameron’s hardly innocent,” Alaska spits back, and Sharon’s eyebrows raise.

“I will _never,_ ” she says lowly, “leave someone to be hanged. Do you understand? I don’t care what they did.”

“What’s the matter?” Alaska sneers. “Uncomfortable with the idea of someone killing someone else?”

Sharon’s expression spasms. “When it’s not a necessity–”

“Is murdering Solomon a necessity?”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Sharon says, scowling, her eyes wide with hurt. Alaska feels guilt squirm in her belly for a moment, but then Sharon continues. “I don’t pretend to be fucking morality itself.”

“No one is pretending to be anything,” Alaska snarls, anger resurging again. “All the law cares about is carrying out justice, and you’re just uncomfortable with the idea that you’re on the other side of it.”

Sharon snorts derisively. “All the law cares about is fucking money.”

“That’s a lie,” Alaska says, but she feels herself faltering.

“Did you suddenly forget how two hundred fucking dollars wasn’t enough for your friend the sheriff?” Sharon cries. “Did you forget how ready he was to let Kameron - who _clearly_ deserves to hang for her sins - go free if he could make a profit off of it?”

“Honard can hardly be counted as a pillar of morality.”

“But they were right to hang Kameron by the fucking neck?”

“I don’t even know what she did!” Alaska says through her teeth, and Sharon sneers.

“You want to know what she did? She killed her husband when he pulled a gun on her. Not after he beat her senseless, not after he broke her fucking finger, not after I _told_ her to. Only when he tried to kill her. What the _fuck_ is fair in killing her for that?”

“She didn’t try to report him?” Alaska asks, horrified and scrambling for a way to appease her guilt. “Surely they would have–”

“They didn’t bother,” Sharon snaps, voice bordering on dangerous, “because all they care about is the money it gets them.”

“How do you know she’s telling the truth?” Alaska shoots back. “What do you know about what the law–”

“ _Because_ _the same thing happened to me_!” Sharon shouts, and Alaska startles, shock briefly cancelling out her anger. “They didn’t fucking help me because there wasn’t a bounty on my husband’s head! What’s the point if there’s no money in it, right?”

Alaska stares for a moment, absorbing everything Sharon had just yelled at her, anger still humming just below her skin. She can’t argue against that, except one point sticks out to her, and it feels like Sharon’s twisted the knife she already has in Alaska’s back.

“So you lied.”

Sharon frowns, clearly taken aback. “What?”

“You lied about not going to the law,” Alaska says, getting worked up again. “For all I know, you could be lying about it right now.”

Sharon’s face clears in understanding and something like guilt, like hurt, flashes in her eyes. “I’m not lying, Alaska, I just–”

“You just what?” Alaska snaps. “Thought it’d be fun to mess with me a little? What else did you lie about? Chad?”

There’s a long moment of silence, hurt and anger clear on Sharon’s face as she stares at Alaska. “I would _never -_ you said–”

“I said what I said last night because I thought I knew you,” Alaska says coldly, even though she knows it isn’t true. She writes it off as the remaining pieces of infatuation, a repeat of her childhood obsession, and she ignores the voice screaming otherwise. “I got infatuation confused with love.”

She watches as Sharon’s expression completely shuts down, impassive and hard. Regret only has a split second to pinch in her chest before Sharon speaks, her tone cold and distant. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, then,” she says. “You want to be somewhere where the law is always right and the only thing you have to worry about is whether your husband’s going to make you sleep with him or not? Be my fucking guest.”

It _hurts_ \- the words carve into Alaska like a hot knife, making her chest ache and tears threaten to spill. Alaska takes in a shuddering breath. “It’s better than this,” she says, and in the moment, she means it.

Sharon’s expression flickers, and she raises an eyebrow. “Fine. Jinkx is taking the carriage to town tomorrow. I suggest you get a ride with her.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Alaska spits back, and it feels like her heart is breaking. She feels an anger like she’s never felt before. “ _Anything_ to get me away from _you_.”

Sharon suddenly takes in a sharp breath, her expression crumpling for a split second before she has it under control again. “I need some air,” she says, and she ducks out before Alaska can say anything, leaving her alone in the tent, full of anger and heartbreak and a desperate desire to run away.

If Sharon wants her gone, she’ll go. She wants to leave, anyway - it’s what she’s wanted this entire time. Anything that says otherwise was just a brief infatuation, the temptation of escaping her responsibilities. But Sharon was right. She doesn’t belong here. She can’t handle the cost of this life.

Besides, if she isn’t going to be listened to, if she can’t trust what Sharon tells her - she doesn’t know if she even wants to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> tumblr: @narcoleptic-drag-queen
> 
> my playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6xuTbkNvtHC6By0k4D66gP?si=7HWKEN5uR26j3rVomF65mQ


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Leave me alone and let me go to hell by my own route.” – Calamity Jane shortly before her death in Deadwood, South Dakota, in 1903

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys... we have one chapter left. I legit feel like a parent watching their kid pack up to go to college. 
> 
> Thank you to Frey, sweetest beta in the world, but also the snarkiest!!! I love her and you should too!! And THANK YOU for the brilliant comments!! I love every single one with my whole heart!!

Sharon doesn’t come back.

Alaska waits, tense and ready for another argument, for two hours. Sharon doesn’t come back.

She paces, replaying the fight over and over in her head, Sharon’s barbed words digging deeper with every syllable repeated. Anger is still turbulent within her, and she wants to let it out again, several new responses and accusations building at the back of her throat. But, Sharon doesn’t come back.

Alaska begins to relax, fury still making her heart pound, but the anticipation of having to fight with it fading. Sharon, she realizes, is going to be ‘getting some air’ for the rest of the night - possibly until Alaska leaves in the morning. She pretends like the idea doesn’t send a pang through her, and instead digs her heels in. She’s leaving. She’d rather not see Sharon, either.

She’s too wired to sleep, but she blows out the lantern anyway, suddenly eager to show Sharon that she isn’t hopi– waiting for her to return. It leaves her standing, alone, in the dark, and as she kicks off her boots and sits in the mess of blankets she and Sharon had left only two mornings ago, she wonders if Sharon is just as alone as she is.

She snorts bitterly as soon as the thought crosses her mind. Obviously, she’s not - Jinkx’s concerned gaze hadn’t followed them into the tent earlier because she didn’t care - obviously, she did. Sharon is probably staying with Jinkx. Jinkx, who’s probably comforting Sharon right now. Jinkx, who’d known what she was getting into when she’d said she’d go with Sharon to get Kameron. Jinkx, who Sharon trusts with her life, with her secrets. Jinkx, who Sharon listens to, respects.

The sight of Sharon’s empty pillow suddenly invokes a rage that Alaska can’t quite explain, and she grabs it, tossing it away from herself with such force that it clatters into the set of drawers at the other end of the tent, possibly knocking it over, judging by the sound it makes. It satisfies some of the anger burning in her chest, and she casts about for more things to throw, eager for the brief relief destruction gives her.

She settles for her boots, sitting nicely at the side of her bedroll. The tidiness of them annoys her - why did she even bother? Sharon’s made a wreck of her life. The least she can do is wreck Sharon’s things in return.

She stands, her right boot in hand. She grabs it by the heel, ready to chuck it at the crates, when the glint of a chain in the moonlight suddenly makes her arm falter, the boot falling harmlessly into the packed dirt and grass at the base of the crates.

The locket.

It’s sitting innocuously amidst the mess of papers Sharon has spread across the faux-desk, and Alaska doesn’t think to question it until she remembers throwing it in the back of the top drawer, the sound of it cracking against the wood still clear in her mind.

Sharon had been looking at it, at some point. Alaska wonders briefly why she hadn’t noticed her doing so, before she realizes that it must have been the morning they’d left to get Kameron, when Alaska had still been asleep. The morning after Sharon’s nightmare.

She’d been so guilty that night, so scared - Alaska’s heart aches at the memory, at the way Sharon had cried into her chest. She must have looked at it for comfort, although it had no doubt played a role in bringing back the memories that had fueled the nightmare.

If the memories she told Alaska hold any weight, anyway.

Anger feels better than the guilt that had begun to sink in her gut, and she greets it eagerly. Sharon had lied - just because something had clearly happened, doesn’t mean she told the truth about it. Alaska thought she’d finally been trusted, had been seen as an equal - now, she feels like Sharon was just trying to appease her curiosity.

She feels like an idiot for baring her soul to Sharon, for giving up her past, giving up her morals, her life - she’d given up her _clothes._ Sharon had given her nothing but lies and false promises.

Alaska sits back down, stretching out under the blankets and lying her head on the pillow, even though she knows she won’t get any sleep, if the lump in the back of her throat is any indication. She has to turn her back from Sharon’s side of the tent, the absence of her pillow not quite enough to erase her own absence from Alaska’s mind.

The darkness of the tent allows for her thoughts to turn away from anger, sadness finally breaking away at its sharp edges.

The hardest part is knowing that she misses Sharon’s arms around her waist. The hardest part is the way she has to stop herself from defending Sharon in her own mind. The hardest part is how much she wants to believe the rest of Sharon’s story is true. The hardest part is knowing that _she_ lied, too.

She’s in love with Sharon. She just needs to learn how to fall out of it.

🌸

Alaska wakes up freezing.

She’s shivering underneath her blankets, the morning chill sharper than usual, and she very nearly pulls Sharon closer to combat it, craving her body heat, before memory slaps her in the face. It feels like ice water has just been dumped over her head, and she snaps her eyes open, jerking away from Sharon.

Except, Sharon isn’t there.

A makeshift shape of blankets lies in front of her, indents where her arms had been clear in its rumpled form. A blush creeps along Alaska’s cheeks, embarrassment only serving to fan the flames of her memories of the fight, irritation rising eagerly to the occasion.

Sharon isn’t there, and she’s glad.

She rolls over, the sight of Sharon’s empty bedroll only serving to irk her further, allowing herself to get lost in her thoughts as she gazes around the tent. It’s dingy, bare, and she can’t wait to get out of it.

 _All that crime and she can’t even get more than two crates and a beat up nightstand,_ Alaska thinks bitterly.

 _Who said money was the point of all this?_ A voice that sounds eerily like Sharon’s shoots back, and Alaska sneers at it, sitting up to pull on her boots. According to Sharon, money is the only reason anyone does anything.

Alaska might as well go to the place she has the most of it, right?

Alaska ignores the voice when it argues that she’s being unfair, instead focusing on the single boot sitting beside her, confused. Where had the other one–

Her tantrum comes flooding back to her all at once, and she immediately jerks her gaze over to the set of drawers, taking in the damage.

The pillow lies just in front of the stand, which, thankfully, isn’t completely knocked over. The only damages she can see is that all of the drawers are open at varying degrees, evidence that the stand had been knocked around a little bit, and the papers that had been sitting on top had fluttered to the ground at some point. She’s just scanning all of the drawers for more specific damage when a familiar dusky pink catches her eye, peeking out of the bottom most drawer. The sight of it knocks the breath out of her.

Her dress.

She’s on her feet in seconds, rushing over to the stand and falling to her knees beside it, anger simmering beneath her skin. Irrationally, it feels like Sharon’s been hiding it, keeping it from view. It doesn’t matter that Alaska hadn’t given it a second thought since Sharon had started untying her corset.

It doesn’t.

She pulls the dress out, the silk cool beneath her fingers. Familiarity wraps around her like a warm blanket, the heavy weight of the garment strangely comforting. She’d loved this dress - it had been one of the few she was allowed to pick the fabric for. She remembers how it had swung about her hips, how the color would look almost purple in shadow. Nostalgia sweetens the sight for a brief moment, before her fingers catch on a tear in the back, between the bodice and the skirt. The tear Sharon had made when she jerked Alaska back from escaping her.

How had she ever fallen in– become so infatuated with someone so cruel? How had she become so blind to Sharon’s obvious criminality, her sharp edges? Alaska never had a voice in this camp - she’d been a fool to think so.

Anger rises again, and she’s suddenly aware of the coarse cotton of the shirt she has on her back, the way her pants rub against her knees when she bends them, the way they don’t quite cover her ankles. She _hates_ them, everything about her tainted by Sharon and her hands, and she quickly stands, eager to take them off.

She strips quickly, chucking each piece away from her haphazardly, eager to reverse at least one thing she’d altered for this camp. She slips on her chemise, relishing in the familiar way it floats around her body. It feels right - familiar.

She gets as far as her petticoat before her fingers stutter across the corset, hesitating. Sharon isn’t here to help her put it on, and she has no idea where to begin with putting it on herself. Not that Sharon would have wanted to help her, anyways.

The thought makes irritation snap in her chest, and it spurs her on to slip the corset over her head. She’s doing this. She won’t let Sharon - or her absence - affect what she wants. She’s leaving, and she doesn’t want to take anything with her. She’ll leave dressed in what she came in. She’ll be unmarked by Sharon, unaffected–

“You want help with that?”

Alaska jumps five feet into the air, whirling around so fast she nearly gives herself whiplash, jerking her hands away from the corset’s laces like that would do anything to hide her current state of undress.

“What the fuck!” she snaps, glaring at the intruder. “This isn’t your tent!”

Willam stands just inside the tent, looking at Alaska with amusement, her mouth twisting in a sort of mocking way. “Jinkx told me to get you up,” she says, and Alaska grits her teeth together.

“You couldn’t have told me from outside?”

Willam shrugs. “Didn’t feel like it. Do you want my help or not?”

Alaska stares at her, trying to gage whether or not Willam knows what had happened between her and Sharon last night. After a long moment of trying to look past Willam’s strangely blank expression, she gives up. It doesn’t matter, anyway. She’s leaving - she doubts Willam cares enough to comment.

“Fine,” she says stiffly, and Willam raises an eyebrow.

“A little rude, but I’ll take it,” she says, sauntering over to Alaska. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Alaska adds, her voice a little softer. She jumps as Willam’s hands steady her shoulders, uncomfortably cold. She squashes the part of her that longs for Sharon’s touch, the other woman always running warm even without a fever.

There’s a beat of silence as Willam begins tightening the top of the corset, her hands clearly experts at it. “So,” Willam begins, “you and Sharon, huh?”

Alaska’s pretty sure even the back of her neck goes red, embarrassment, hurt, and irritation creating an ugly concoction in her stomach. “No,” she says harshly, and she can practically feel Willam’s eyebrows raising.

“No need to be embarrassed,” she says. “She’s good in bed. I should be congratulating you.”

Alaska freezes, her heart pounding in her ears. The pause seems to stretch on for eternity. “What?”

“Mhm?”

“How do you know that?” Alaska demands, although she knows, deep down. Willam gives the corset another tug, nearer to the middle.

“I’ve slept with her,” she says, her tone screaming _obviously_. “A few times, so I know she’s consistent.”

Alaska falls silent with shocked anger, jealousy a hot knife in the middle of her gut. Was this another thing Sharon was planning on hiding from her? How many other girls had she slept with? Was it just Willam? Was this another lie?

She needs to get out of here.

“Why are you putting this on, anyway? I thought I was the only one who preferred dresses,” Willam asks, evidently oblivious to the effect of her words. Her nonchalance scrapes at Alaska’s nerves, and she bites her tongue to avoid snapping, unwilling to start another argument with someone else.

“Good to have a partner in it, I guess,” Willam adds. “Although now I might have some competition.”

The last two words have jealousy leaping up into Alaska’s throat, and she resists the urge to slap Willam’s hands away from her waist. “I’m leaving,” she snaps. “So you don’t have to worry about it.”

Willam’s fingers still. “You’re leaving?”

“Sharon thinks I don’t belong here,” she says. “And I agree.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Willam says, her voice strangely hesitant - careful.

“Were you there?” Alaska asks harshly.

Willam falls silent, and her next tug feels sharper than necessary, knocking the breath out of Alaska. She finishes quickly, knotting the laces deftly, and after tightening them with some aggression, Alaska hears Willam step back. “Done,” she says shortly.

“Thanks,” Alaska says, tone clipped.

“I think I know Sharon a little better than you do.”

A flash of irritation. “No need to remind me,” Alaska says bitterly.

“Have fun with the rest of your outfit,” Willam says, after a beat, and Alaska waits until she hears the rustle of the tent flap moving before she sags, suddenly exhausted.

She needs to talk to Sharon.

🌸

Alaska leaves the tent after she finishes putting her hair up, frightened somewhat by the glance she takes in Sharon’s rusty hand mirror. She looks tired, hardened. She doesn’t look like she belongs in her dress, somehow.

It’s a ridiculous thought, and Alaska waves it away as she ducks out of the tent, the early morning chill causing goosebumps to break out over her arms. The weather, for once, seems to have excluded the Sun - mist crawls across the pale grass, and Alaska has to walk nearly halfway towards where she thinks the firepit is before the huddled figures of the other women can be seen, all talking softly.

Willam and Jinkx sit on the log nearest Alaska, and she narrows her eyes at the way they seem to be whispering to each other, anger poised and ready to strike out at both of them.

“She’s making a mistake,” Willam whispers, oblivious to Alaska’s approach.

“They both are,” Jinkx says, her eyes sad. “If Sharon hadn’t been so stupid this morning–”

“No,” Willam says, her voice a little sharper. “Alaska can’t leave. I don’t think she understands–”

“I understand everything perfectly,” Alaska interrupts, insulted. Who were they to be discussing what she should and shouldn’t do?

Jinkx looks at her, guilt and concern written all over her face. Her hair is frizzy with the humidity. “How much did you hear?”

Alaska clenches her fists in her skirt as she looks at her, the confirmation that Sharon had told Jinkx everything only serving to rub salt in her wound. “Does Sharon know you’re telling everyone at camp what happened last night?” she asks sharply. “Because it doesn’t seem like she’d want that.”

“Last I checked,” Jinkx says, frowning a little, “Willam wasn’t the entire camp.”

“Besides,” Willam puts in, clearly unimpressed with Alaska’s anger. “I don’t think Sharon really knows what she wants right now.”

She’s trying to entice Alaska to stay. Alaska digs her heels in further. “If Sharon wants me to stay, she’d better tell me right now.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, her heart starts pounding with anticipation, something like hope bubbling in her gut. If Sharon’s changed her mind - if she has an explanation, answers to what Willam had told her, what she had done yesterday morning - Alaska is willing to listen. She _wants_ to listen.

As she looks at the expressions on the other two’s faces, however, she feels her hope start to sink like a deadweight.

“What?” she asks, her stomach twisting. She uses her anger to keep her steady.

Jinkx grimaces, and for once, Willam looks caught off guard. They both stay silent, looking at each other in askance, and Alaska scowls at the both of them, stress popping in her chest like a balloon.

“ _What_?” she snaps, loudly, and Willam winces.

“She left,” she says, and Alaska stares at her. She feels like she’s just been punched in the chest.

“What?”

Jinkx stands up to touch her arm comfortingly, but Alaska jerks away from her. “Don’t touch me,” she snaps, anger and hurt rushing in like a storm, and Jinkx takes a deep breath.

“She’s coming back,” she says. “I’m not sure why she left, but it was–”

“I know why she left,” Alaska says, allowing her anger to bleed through and ignoring the tears pressing against the backs of her eyes. “She’s avoiding me. I get it. I don’t want to fucking see her either.”

“No–”

“Don’t lie to me,” she says. “She doesn’t want me here, and neither do I. It works out.”

“Of course she wants you here,” Jinkx says, furrowing her eyebrows. “This is the stupidest argument I think I’ve ever–”

“Then explain to me what she told me last night,” Alaska says through gritted teeth.

“She said it to hurt you,” Willam says bluntly. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.”

 _Because you know her so well, right?_ Alaska nearly snarls, but she’s not ready to confront the words yet.

“Well, she succeeded,” she bites back instead, trying to keep her voice from wobbling. “In more ways than one.”

Jinkx makes a distressed sound. “If you would just _listen–_ ”

“The only person that I’ll listen to is Sharon,” Alaska says, and she’s horrified when a tear drips down her cheek. She rubs it away hastily, anger chasing her embarrassment at its heels. “And she clearly isn’t interested.”

Jinkx presses her lips together. “If you would just–”

“In fact, I’ll make it easier for everyone and skip breakfast,” Alaska says abruptly, the need to run once again crawling under her skin. She needs to get away from here. She feels so _stupid._ “I’d like to leave now.”

“No,” Jinkx says, clearly casting around for a reason to make Alaska stay. “No, I think–”

“I’ll take her,” Willam says, and both Alaska and Jinkx turn to stare at her. She shrugs at them. “I need new boots, anyway.”

“ _Willam,_ ” Jinkx hisses, and Alaska is inclined to agree. The last person she wants to sit with for four hours is Willam - but then again, Jinkx isn’t exactly at the top of the list either.

“What?” Willam asks, raising an eyebrow. “It’ll be quick and easy. The train station is on the way to the general store. I’ll pick up some food.”

The words sting, the nonchalance with which they’re said only making Alaska want to leave even more. “Great,” she says quickly, before Jinkx can put words to the scowl on her face. “Let’s go.”

Willam stands up from the log, but not before giving Jinkx a look that Alaska can’t decipher. Jinkx relaxes a little with it, but she still looks distressed. “Don’t do this,” she says to Alaska, and Alaska forces something akin to resolve to form around her heart.

“I’m just doing what Sharon wants me to do,” she says coldly.

Willam snorts, and Alaska bristles at it.

“Sure,” Willam says. “Are we going, or what?”

🌸

They’re two hours out from the camp before Willam finally speaks.

The carriage can barely be called a carriage - it’s more of a glorified cart, with an open back made of cheap, wooden boards surrounded by a short wall barely held together by a few nails. Two horses are strapped to it, and its wheels creak with every small bump in the road. The driver’s bench is nothing but a plank of wood with a thin coat of varnish on it, and combined with Alaska’s corset, she’s the most uncomfortable she’s been since she was tied to the post.

She wouldn’t be in the mood to hear Willam talk even if she wasn’t leaving the woman she loves behind, with only one of her ex-lovers for company.

“Apple?” Willam asks, and she pulls one out of a pocket she has sewn into her skirts.

“No,” Alaska says, biting back the _thank you_ that wants to accompany it. Her stomach undercuts it, however, by growling loudly.

“Sounds like you want the apple,” Willam says, and Alaska deflates.

“Fine,” she says. She feels drained. “Thank you.” Willam silently passes her the apple, and Alaska finds herself grateful for the lack of a smug smirk on her face. Sharon would have–

She stamps the thought out under her heel, viciously taking a bite out of her apple. If she’s going to forget about Sharon, she’s going to have to start now.

“Are you in love with Sharon?”

Alaska nearly spits out her apple, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest. She manages to choke it down, staring at Willam with wide eyes. “How is that any of your business?” she asks, voice harsh, and Willam shrugs.

“Do you?”

“I’m not–” Alaska stumbles across the words, unable to say them out loud. When she had said those words to Sharon - she suddenly can’t get the image of Sharon’s face closing off out of her mind, nausea rising to accompany her nervous heartbeat. “I’m not telling you,” she says instead, taking a deep breath.

“Might as well face it, if you do,” Willam tells her. “It’s not like you don’t know.”

“It’s not like you have any right to know,” Alaska shoots back, and Willam tilts her head as if to acknowledge her point.

“I’m just saying,” she says. “If you do, you might want to think about what you’re throwing away.”

Alaska flushes, irritated. “Maybe you should tell that to Sharon,” she says, and Willam snorts.

“I would if she were the one threatening to leave,” she says. “But she’s not.”

“She’s the one that asked me to,” Alaska shoots back.

“She’s not the one pretending she isn’t in love,” Willam says, and Alaska feels like she’s just been slapped.

“How dare you,” she says lowly, “use what I said last night against me. You weren’t there, you weren’t–”

“What?” Willam says, frowning, and Alaska stops.

“Jinkx didn’t tell you?” she asks, and Willam shakes her head slowly.

“I was talking about you avoiding my question,” she says, and her face slowly clears with realization. “Last night?” she takes in a breath, looking at Alaska with something like stunned accusation. “You didn’t.”

“Again,” Alaska says, guilt squirming in her gut. “It’s none of your business.”

“Jesus,” Willam says, looking ahead again. “And now you’re leaving?”

“What does it look like?” Alaska snaps back, and Willam doesn’t respond, staring ahead with seemingly no expression.

“You’re an idiot,” she says, after a long period of silence, and Alaska bristles.

“Am I?” she asks, making sure to lace her voice with sharp sarcasm. “Please, elaborate.”

“You’ve already fucked this pretty bad,” Willam says, and Alaska rolls her eyes, defensive anger rolling in her gut. “This is going to ruin your chances forever. You have no idea–”

“What?” Alaska interrupts, unable to just sit there and be berated by _Willam_ , of all people. “And you do?”

“In fact, yeah, I do,” Willam says, voice mockingly pitched like she’s only just realized this herself, and Alaska has to fight back the childish urge to shove her.

“Why do you even care?” she asks. “I thought you couldn’t care less whether I stayed or not. What happened to that?”

“I care about Sharon,” Willam says. “And I hadn’t realized how attached she was when I told you that.”

Jealousy rears back its head. “Didn’t realize you had such an intimate relationship,” Alaska says bitterly, and Willam’s jaw clenches imperceptibly.

“Well, we did,” she says, but she continues before Alaska can act on the anger rapidly filling her chest. “Until I fucked it up.”

Alaska frowns. “What?”

Willam rolls her lips between her teeth, nodding to herself after a quick glance at Alaska. “It started out as a quick fuck here and there,” she says, clearly attempting to keep her usual nonchalance and failing. Alaska watches her as she clearly thinks of how to continue, intrigued against her will. “I was still working at the bar in Coady. She was teaching me how to shoot, just in case some of the more enthusiastic clients got a little too enthusiastic,” she snorts, a little. “We started growing close. She asked me to stay, one night. I got scared. I left while she was still sleeping.”

“But you’re still here,” Alaska says. “You’re still at the camp.”

“I got into trouble a while back,” Willam says. “I’m sure someone’s told you about my wanted posters. Sharon let me back in, because she’s good like that.” She takes a deep breath. “I tried to start things back up again. I told her I was here to stay, this time.” She laughs, the sound a little sad. “She still doesn’t believe me. We haven’t done anything but sleep together a few times. She hasn’t let it go farther.”

Alaska feels her stomach twist at the story, fear suddenly gripping her heart. What if she’s making a mistake?

“She asked you to stay,” she says, immediately on the defensive. “She asked me to leave. There’s a difference.”

“I haven’t seen her look at anyone the way she does at you,” Willam says, her voice soft. “You really want to throw that away?”

“She’s the one throwing this away,” Alaska shoots back. “Not me. And it doesn’t matter how you think she looks at me - she doesn’t trust me, and I don’t trust her.”

“You’re really good at lying to yourself,” Willam observes, her voice returning to its usual state, the shutters closing behind her eyes.

“Fuck off,” Alaska says, but uncertainty is beginning to unravel the edges of her anger, Willam’s story sparking less jealousy and more worry.

No. This is the right thing to do - this is what she should have been doing the whole time. She just has to deal with the consequences of giving in to her temptations.

“I think you’re taking care of that already,” Willam says, and the words are bitter.

“Are you sure you don’t just want to drag me back anyway?” Alaska challenges, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah,” Willam says, her vulnerability completely gone, now. “It’s gotta be your choice. It won’t count to her if I force you into it.”

Alaska has no response to that, her uncertainty growing even more rocky. She doesn’t want to lose Sharon. But she can’t stomach the things that come with keeping her.

“Listen,” Willam says, after another long beat of silence. “I’ll wait at the saloon until five this evening. Just in case you change your mind.”

Alaska huffs a bitter laugh, sadness and disappointment like lead weights in her chest.

“Don’t hold your breath.”

🌸

Willam drops Alaska off at the station with sixty dollars and a reminder that she’ll be at the saloon until that evening. Alaska raises an eyebrow and says, “It’s a waste of your time.”

Willam shrugs. “We’ll see,” she says, and she flicks the reins. Alaska crushes the wad of money in her fist as she watches her leave, her stomach lurching like she’s just let an expensive vase fall to the floor.

She tears her eyes away, taking in a deep breath as she looks at the station platform. She’s doing the right thing. She owes it to her father - to society. This is where she belongs - she can’t let an attachment to Sharon muddle that. Sharon had said it herself: she can’t be the reason Alaska stays.

_“This life - it’s something you have to want. And you want it.”_

_I don’t,_ Alaska thinks resolutely. _I can’t._

Not when a criminal’s life is worth more than an innocent man’s. But was that man really so innocent? Was Kameron really so criminal?

She tells herself it doesn’t matter, that the government is something she should be placing her trust in, but her heart doesn’t stop pounding even when she steps up to the ticket booth, her heart in her throat and resolve in her brow.

“Ma’am,” the man behind the glass says, inclining his head. The treatment surprises her, and she nearly laughs before catching herself. She nods her head back.

“One ticket to New York City, please,” she says, sliding the required amount of bills under the glass. She still feels odd, using stolen money to run away from doing just that, but Willam had said it was part of her share and there wasn’t another option. She wasn’t as conflicted about it as she should have been when she’d accepted it, something like pride swelling within her instead.

“Trip to the big city, huh?” the man says, counting her bills with a cheeky grin. “Got someone special for you waiting there?”

Alaska just gives him a tight grin, but it only seems to encourage his flirting.

“Surely, a pretty something like you has someone waiting for her?” he asks, and the words make guilt swirl in with the discomfort she feels under his gaze. She pushes Sharon out of her mind.

“No one but my father,” she says, to be polite, and he raises his eyebrows.

“So you’re just visiting, then? Husband waiting at home?”

“No,” she tells him, and she can’t quite help the bitterness that leaks into her voice. “No one cares.”

“Surely–”

“Just a one-way, please,” she says shortly, and his smile flattens at her sharp tone.

“Well, I can certainly see why,” he says, snide, and he slides a slip of paper to her. She snatches it from him, the words more infuriating than wounding, and she quickly marches over to a bench, walking past several waiting passengers and suitcases to sit next to an older man with silver-gray hair.

How had she dealt with that for twenty four years? She’s forgotten how exhausting it is to smile and nod and laugh even when she doesn’t feel like it. She’s forgotten how to make her smile not too bright, her laugh not too loud. She’s forgotten how a man’s attention could feel so suffocating, so threatening, so–

“Alaska?”

She startles at the sound of her name, jerking her head up from where she’d been glaring at her clenched fists. Who had–?

“ _Alaska?_ ”

She looks over to see the man next to her staring at her like he’s just seen a ghost, and she stares at him for too long before it finally clicks.

“Uncle Philip?”

His frown of confusion instantly brightens with relief and incredulity, an amazed smile splitting his face. “ _Alaska!_ ” he says, and he grabs her hands. It takes all she has in her to not jerk away, his gloves rough and unfamiliar. “I thought you were _dead_!”

Alaska forces a smile, her initial shock fading into something like discomfort and resentment. “I can’t imagine why,” she says, and he laughs, his relief making the sound giddy.

“I have to tell your father!” he says. “He’ll be so relieved - he might even forgive– unless you’re already going to him?”

“You told him I was dead?” Alaska asks, taken aback. “You just assumed-?”

“We had no idea,” he says, raising his eyebrows. He squeezes Alaska’s hands earnestly, and this time, she doesn’t hesitate to draw away. “You were taken by Needles, we just assumed–”

“Did you even _try_ to come after me?” she asks, hurt and anger beginning to blossom in her chest. “Did you try to rescue me? Or did you just leave me there with them to die?”

“Well, I–” he stutters, “I told the law! They told me it was hopeless, and that I shouldn’t bother unless I wanted to die myself. They said you’d probably died in the fire - Needles doesn’t keep her victims alive, they say.”

“Did you offer them money?” Alaska demands, her fury now in full swing. “Did my father?”

“I don’t know,” her uncle says, deflating. “By the time the letter got to him, you were assumed dead. He was devastated.”

“Was he?” Alaska questions, curling her lip. “Because it sounds like it was a pretty convenient excuse to get me off his hands.”

“Of _course_ he was,” her uncle says, frowning at her. “I’ve never seen a man so heartbroken. You owe your daddy more than to accuse him of that.”

“I don’t owe him anything,” Alaska snaps back, defense rushing into her chest, and the words make her pause. They had been said reflexively, a way to snap at her uncle quickly, but there’s a truth in them that she hasn’t felt before. It feels good - it feels like a weight being lifted off of her shoulders.

“You do,” her uncle says. “And when you see how grateful he is to see you alive and well, you’ll understand that.”

“If he wanted to see me alive and well so badly,” she says, realization after realization dropping down on her like the beginnings of rain. “He would have fought for me.”

The police hadn’t cared, probably because there hadn’t been any money in it for them, Sharon’s proven herself to be dangerous, and their lives are worth more than Alaska’s. She believes that her father cared, but not enough to funnel money into a search. Possibly because he doesn’t understand the corrupt sense of law out here - definitely because they’d told him she was dead, and it was convenient.

She’s beginning to realize that it’s convenient for her, as well.

She tunes back into whatever her uncle is saying, just in time to catch the last end of it: “-how did you escape her, anyway?”

“I didn’t escape,” she says slowly, feeling shaken. In just a few sentences, her uncle has shattered most of her argument to leave, to go against what she really wants. Her moral compass, the law, the government, has more cracks that she’d thought possible. Her duties are gone, and her family might as well be.

Except, maybe, they aren’t.

“What?”

“Where are you going?” she asks abruptly. Her uncle stares.

“New York.”

“Have you gotten a ticket?”

“No, not yet.”

“Here,” she says, and she thrusts her ticket at him. He takes it instinctively, giving her a strange look.

“Why–?”

“You’re visiting my father, right?” she asks, standing, adrenaline making everything feel too slow. She has to get to the saloon - she has to see Willam, she has to see _Sharon._

“I am,” her uncle says, his brows knitting together. “But so are you, if I’m not mistaken?”

“I’m not going,” she says, and the words feel more natural than anything she’s said all day. This is how she can live her life in peace. She’s been free this entire time, and she hadn’t even realized it.

She is _free._

“What?” her uncle says again, and he’s immediately on his feet, staring at Alaska like she’s insane.

“Do me a favor, would you?” she asks, already stepping away from him. “Don’t tell my father I made it.”

“ _What_?”

“It just makes things easier,” she says. “I don’t belong here. Don’t tell him.”

“ _No,_ ” her uncle says, and anger crosses his face dangerously. “Do you understand how guilty I feel? I’m telling him, and you’re coming back with me.”

“No,” Alaska says, and she feels a wave of calm wash over her, her plan already forming in her mind. She’s in control. She can do this.

“No?”

“If you tell him,” Alaska says, “I’ll make sure to let him know _exactly_ how I ended up in the hands of Sharon Needles.”

Her uncle pales, and she feels a rush of satisfaction at the sight. It had been a shot in the dark, an assumption at best, but it had been worth it - he hadn’t told his brother about his dealings with Solomon, or how he’d run without even attempting to bring her with him. And, he feels guilty as hell about it.

“Why?” he asks, clearly distressed. “Why are you doing this? Don’t you want to come home?”

 _I do,_ Alaska thinks. _Just not that one._ “I’ll let you figure that out for yourself,” she says, and she walks away. She feels like she could fly - she feels like she’s just broken through a wall she’s been hammering at for fifteen years.

There are still problems they need to work out. Still the issue of respect, of honesty, of trust. But she’s willing to listen, now.

She’s going home.

🌸

The saloon is dirty, filled with raucous laughter, loud shouting, and the musty smell of piss and beer. Alaska wrinkles her nose as she steps into it, a little out of breath after running half of the way from the station to the saloon, but she wades into the crowd without hesitation, scanning the heads of prostitutes and patrons for Willam’s familiar blonde curls.

She gives up on trying to spot Willam after a man, clearly drunk, stumbles into her. She shoves him away, disgusted, and his slurred apologies chase her as she shoves the rest of her way to the bar.

There’s a barmaid behind the counter, rather than the bartender Alaska had been expecting, with a large bosom and even larger yellow hair piled into a loose bun. Her eyes instantly go to Alaska, no doubt surprised to see a woman in an expensive dress waiting her turn for a beer, and she doesn’t hesitate to leave the man she’d been laughing with to give Alaska an impatient look.

“Go talk to Raja about a job,” she says, waving her hand. “I don’t have enough sex to deal with this.”

“ _Trixie_!” the man hollers, clearly amused, and Alaska suddenly realizes that this is _Katya’s_ Trixie, the one who’s letter had been filled with anecdotes about drunk men and their wives, whose words had turned from humorous to intimate on a dime. She feels herself slump with relief - surely, she knows where Willam is.

“Willam?” she shouts over the noise of the room. “I’m looking for Willam!”

Trixie’s eyes suddenly narrow, and she walks over to Alaska to face her fully, frowning a little. “Who wants to know?”

“I do,” Alaska says. “I know her.”

“Sure,” Trixie says, giving Alaska’s dress a clear once over. “And I’m the queen of France.”

Alaska flushes, a little offended. “Willam is my way back home,” she says. “I know she’s here because she said she would wait for me.”

Trixie looks unimpressed. “These backstories are getting stupid, even for you people,” she says. “Fuck off.”

Alaska rolls her eyes, impatient. “I read your letter to Katya,” she says, and Trixie pales before flushing ten shades of red. “Should I start by reciting how–”

“Stop!” Trixie snaps, and Alaska holds her gaze for a moment longer before she sighs, obviously exasperated. “I know Katya can read English,” she says darkly, looking at Alaska with irritation. “I don’t know why she needs to show everyone and their mother my shitty letters. Willam’s upstairs with Raja and Raven - knock on the door with the roses in the keyhole.”

“Thank you,” Alaska breathes out, relieved, and as she turns to race up the stairs, she pauses, turning back to Trixie with a small smirk. “And Katya shows everyone your letters because she loves you. Think about that.”

Trixie raises both of her eyebrows at her, but before she can say anything, Alaska has turned back around, slipping between patrons and prostitutes to hasten up the stairs, the wood of them as nicked and pocked as the railing beneath her fingers.

The dimly lit hallway is noticeably quieter than the bar downstairs, and Alaska’s ears ring a little as she wanders down, her footsteps audible on the stained carpet. She tries not to listen too closely to what’s going on behind the doors she passes, keeping an eye out for roses instead of string and an ear out for chatter instead of moaning.

She finds the roses at the end of the hall, three small buds poking out of the keyhole, dried and delicate. She raises a hand to knock, her heart pounding with anticipation, but the sound of Willam’s braying laughter makes her hesitate.

What if she’s too late?

She knows Willam had said she’d wait, but she also knows that Willam could have changed her mind at any point within the hour they’d been apart. She could have decided that Alaska had fucked up her chance the moment she told Willam she was wasting her time. She could have decided that she wanted to take the opportunity to have Sharon for herself, and that Alaska’s absence was for the better.

Alaska immediately dismisses the thought as unfair. Willam wouldn’t have argued with her against leaving if she’d thought that way - she doubts something changed that drastically. She just needs to take the chance, and tell Willam she’d been wrong.

Preemptive embarrassment squirms in her gut, but she steels herself against it. She’s doing this.

She gives the door three sharp knocks, and she holds her breath as the laughter within the room falls silent. There’s a pause before footsteps make their way towards the door, and Alaska steps back as it swings open, revealing a tall, thin woman with brown skin and grey hair wrapped in a turban. She wears dark makeup around her eyes and lips, and she lifts one sculpted eyebrow at Alaska’s wide eyed stare.

“Can I help you?” she asks, her voice deep and rich, and Alaska tries to peek around her to spot Willam. The woman moves the door to block her view. “Can I _help_ you?” she repeats, sounding irritated, and Alaska takes a deep breath.

“I’m here to see Willam,” she says, and the woman’s eyes briefly widen with surprise.

“Willam doesn’t work here anymore,” she says, and she frowns. “And frankly, I don’t know why you even think it’s okay to look here for her. Did Trixie let you–”

“I know she’s here,” Alaska says impatiently, and the woman gives her an insulted look. “Just - tell her Alaska’s here. She’ll know what it means.”

“She doesn’t work here anymore,” the woman says, tone growing irritated. “I don’t care if you’re a regular. I can’t say she’s doing better things, but she’s off the table.”

Alaska blushes at the insinuation. “I’m not here to sleep with her,” she says, disgusted by the idea. “I just need to talk.”

The woman’s face clears. “I thought having a woman here was strange,” she says, and she turns to look behind her. “Do you know someone named Alaska?”

There’s a pause, and then there’s the sound of a glass being sat down. “Yeah,” Willam says, her voice a little quiet. “Let her in.”

The woman steps back, and Alaska walks in, taking in the room as the woman shuts the door behind her.

The room is small and warm, lit by a few candles here and there, and heavy, red curtains block out the sunlight from the window. A desk with an empty chair sits in the corner of it, and a luxurious looking bed lies in the opposite corner. A fainting couch is pressed up against the end of it, dark and silky, and a stool sits in front of a vanity crammed in between the couch and the corner. A woman with dark hair and sharp features is perched on the edge of bed, giving Alaska a piercing stare, and the couch holds Willam, who is currently giving Alaska a smug look from behind her drink.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Willam says, and Alaska flushes, ignoring the little twinge of irritation she feels in favor of the urgency still thrumming in her veins.

“I changed my mind,” she says. “I want to stay.”

“Great,” Willam says, sounding completely unsurprised. “I’m glad you figured it out.”

“This is the girl you were worried about leaving?” the woman on the bed asks, sounding unimpressed. “I’d be worried about her staying. Sharon could break her in half.”

“She already has,” Willam says, but before Alaska can act on the heat flooding her cheeks, the woman who’d answered the door speaks up.

“This is why everyone who meets you thinks you’re a bitch, Raven,” she says, and as Willam snorts, she adds, “You too, Willam.”

“Does it look like that bothers me?” Willam asks, and the woman - she must be Raja - looks amused.

“I don’t know why I missed you when you left,” she says, sitting down on the desk chair. “You’re a pain.”

“You missed her because she’s sexy and she brought in most of the money,” Raven says, and Raja shoots her a look too affectionate to be between friends.

“You do pretty well for yourself,” she says, and Raven’s lips curl into a small smile.

“Can we go?” Alaska asks, impatience and urgency practically bursting out of her, and Willam raises an eyebrow.

“I was supposed to be here until five,” she says, but she’s standing, setting her drink on the vanity, “but you look desperate enough that I feel bad for you.”

Alaska hates her. She presses her lips together. “I’m humbled.”

“This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven, though. You still have to talk to Sharon.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Alaska asks, as Willam opens the door and slips out without so much of a goodbye to Raja and Raven. They don’t seem bothered. “You think I don’t want that?”

“Just hope whatever she was doing today helped cool her down,” Willam tells her, and Alaska bristles.

“You mean you don’t know?”

“I’m not sure anyone does,” Willam says, shrugging as she moves down the hallway. “She took Phi Phi with her - maybe she wanted to take some of her anger out on someone.”

Alaska frowns, the idea sending a dark shiver down her spine. “I hope not,” she says.

Willam looks back at her, pausing at the top of the stairs. “Second thoughts already?”

Alaska looks at her, her hesitation vanishing almost at once. This is why she needs to talk to Sharon - nothing matters until she does. She already wants this - she just needs to make it want her.

“No,” she says. “Not at all.”

🌸

When they arrive at camp, the heat of the late afternoon sunlight is making the smell of pine needles thick in the air, and Alaska is practically jumping out of her seat with anticipation and anxiety, memories and thoughts of Sharon haunting her for the majority of the mostly silent ride.

As soon as Willam pulls the carriage to a stop, she jumps off of it, making a beeline towards the only person in sight: Jinkx, who is sitting by the dead fire pit, a book in her hands and her hair in a messy updo.

“Jinkx!” she calls, and she watches as Jinkx looks up at her, her face bouncing between surprise, excitement, and suspicion almost comically. “Where’s Sharon?”

“You came back?” Jinkx says, her voice filled with disbelief as she stands, setting her book down haphazardly in excitement. “You changed your mind?”

“I did,” Alaska says, reaching her. She feels like she could leap out of her own skin. “I _did_. I need to see Sharon.”

Jinkx’s elated expression falls, worry crossing over her features like a dark storm cloud. “She’s not back yet,” she says. “I’m not sure where–”

“Jinkx!” Willam calls, and there’s something sharp in her voice that makes Alaska’s blood turn to ice. She’s standing just beside the horses, frozen in the middle of untying the white one. “Someone’s riding up along the path, I don’t have my–”

“I do,” Jinkx says, and she pulls out the revolver that she’d given Alaska back when Sharon had still been a villain and Alaska would have paid to see her gone. Jinkx aims it towards the mouth of the path, her hand shaking terribly, and Alaska feels panic shoot through her like lightning. Should she–

“Wait!” a voice cries, and although it’s run ragged and breathless, it’s easily recognizable as Phi Phi’s. Her tone makes Alaska’s stomach drop down to her heels, and as she watches Cerrone round the corner, Phi Phi riding bareback and gripping his mane, the world tips strangely on its axis.

Phi Phi had been with Sharon - but there’s only one rider on Cerrone, and no matter how hard she listens for a second, she hears nothing.

Jinkx lowers her gun, confused. “Phi Phi?”

“Where’s Sharon?” Alaska demands, unable to keep from yelling, panic making her heart go into overdrive. Phi Phi stares at them with wide eyes, a cut above her forehead and the right sleeve of her shirt glistening with red.

“Where is she?” Alaska repeats, her voice growing shrill. This can’t be happening. “What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Phi Phi says, her eyes still wide. “I thought–”

“I don’t care,” Alaska snaps. “Where the fuck is she?”

Phi Phi licks her lips, and she takes a deep breath before she answers.

“Solomon has her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)))
> 
> tumblr: @narcoleptic-drag-queen
> 
> my playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6xuTbkNvtHC6By0k4D66gP?si=7HWKEN5uR26j3rVomF65mQ


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Most of those he did kill deserved what they got.” — A Lincoln County, New Mexico resident talking of Billy the Kid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys... it's the end. I'm crying (but we're celebrating, alright?)
> 
> I left a big sappy note on aq, but I just want to thank Frey for betaing - I love her so much, and she's the best beta in the world. I want to thank all of your for every comment left on this thing - they're literally like, miracle comments, and I've smiled so much my face hurts so many times reading them. Thank you thank you thank you.
> 
> I hope the final chapter is everything you want it to be!!

For a moment, all Alaska can hear is the sound of her heart pounding in her ears, the world tilting dizzyingly as soon as Phi Phi’s words hit her.

_Solomon has her._

Her stomach churns, nausea rising to the back of her throat. Solomon has Sharon. The man who’d killed Chad Michaels in cold blood, seemingly just for fun, has Sharon. The same man who now has _reason_ to hate Sharon, can now do whatever he wants with her. Lawrence Solomon, the man who’s name sends a shiver down Alaska’s spine, has the woman she loves, and he very likely wants to kill her.

All she can do is stare at Phi Phi, unable to form any of the questions she has, shock making her mind numb and her body detached. She hears Willam call for the other women, but it feels like a memory already, like it’s happening far away.

She watches as Roxxxy arrives, a large shotgun in hand, to take her place next to Jinkx’s pale figure. She watches Morgan run towards Willam like a bullet had never been in her thigh, exchanging quiet words with the blonde that Alaska couldn’t hope to hear even if her ears weren’t ringing deafeningly.

She watches Morgan nod at Willam before marching up to Cerrone, reaching Phi Phi’s side with a sneer. She grabs Phi Phi’s shirt and pulls her down violently, and she collapses on the ground in an ungraceful heap. Phi Phi’s sharp cry of pain succeeds in jerking Alaska back into her body, adrenaline flooding through her instead.

“Someone get her to the post,” Willam orders, her voice betraying nothing. Her face, however, is completely drained of color. “We can’t have her running on us.”

Phi Phi doesn’t cry out again when Morgan jerks her arms behind her back, but she grimaces, glaring at Willam with bloodshot eyes. “I didn’t do this,” she snarls, and Morgan shakes her a little, making her sentence end with a whimper of pain.

“I don’t care,” Willam says coldly. “It doesn’t even matter that I don’t believe you.”

“Fuck you,” Phi Phi says. “I came to warn you, I–”

“Exactly,” Willam says. “And that’s suspicious as fuck.”

Phi Phi opens her mouth again, but Morgan cuts her off with another shake. “She’s not interested,” she sneers. “Didn’t you hear?”

Phi Phi doesn’t respond, gritting her teeth, and Willam takes the opportunity to pat her down for weapons. Surprisingly, she comes up with nothing. Alaska is just as confused as Willam looks - surely, Phi Phi would have at least a knife.

 _Maybe,_ Alaska thinks darkly, _she’s trying to trick us._

“What the fuck?” Willam asks, and Phi Phi glares.

“You took all of my weapons, remember?” she snaps.

“No,” Willam says simply. “But I don’t mind skipping to step two.”

“If you tie me to that post,” Phi Phi says, growing panicked as Morgan tries to march her forwards. She digs her heels into the dirt, stopping Morgan and displaying more strength than Alaska had expected. Her voice, however, is strained as she finishes her sentence. “I won’t tell you anything.”

“Sure,” Willam says dryly, but Alaska feels a thrill of panic run through her at the threat. Even if they manage to crack Phi Phi, it will take too long. She needs to know _now._

She steps forward to stop them, to tell Morgan to just shake it out of Phi Phi here and now, but Jinkx beats her to it, raising her voice for the first time since Phi Phi’s grand entrance.

“Stop,” she says, and her voice is wobbly. “I don’t want to make things more difficult than they already are. Not when Sharon’s in danger.” Her voice breaks on the last word, and Alaska’s stomach dips as well, worry rising in her throat.

“How are we supposed to know she’s telling the truth?” Willam asks, flicking her gun lazily at Phi Phi, making her flinch. “I don’t trust her. Wild animals need to be restrained.”

Another flash of panic runs through Alaska like a shock. “Restraining her isn’t going to do anything but make getting Sharon harder,” she says, but Willam’s sharp look silences her from saying any more.

“I think I know what I’m doing,” Willam says, glancing at Phi Phi with something like disgust. “She deserves to be tied up for this.”

“Alaska’s right,” Jinkx says, and Willam’s eyes roll up towards the sky. “I don’t trust her either, but I think we’re going to get the truth a little faster if she’s in the mood to cooperate.”

“Or we’ll get whatever lie she’s got cooked up,” Roxxxy sneers from beside her, and Alaska resists the urge to snap at her to _shut up_. Phi Phi snarls.

“I’m _not_ lying!” she says, voice loud. “I’m _done_ lying for that bastard!”

“Now _that’s_ interesting,” Willam says, peering curiously down at Phi Phi’s scowling face. “I thought you said you would die for him.”

“That’s when I thought he would die for _me_ ,” Phi Phi says, and her voice cracks. “I’m not trying to trick you. Just - please, don’t tie me up.”

“Sharon does always say you’re bad at lyin’,” Willam says, frowning a little. “She says she likes it when he brings you along, because all you do is give him away.”

Phi Phi laughs bitterly. “Makes sense,” she says. “I guess it’s easier to trick me and get shit done that way.” Alaska pauses at that, once again taken aback, the frustration that comes with confusion clenching in her chest. What the hell is Phi Phi _talking_ about?

There’s a beat of silence, and Roxxxy creeps forwards a little, her gun still trained on Phi Phi’s face.

“How do we know she’s not just stalling?” she asks. “How do we know this isn’t all one big ploy to lead Solomon up here to get the rest of us? How do we know Sharon’s not already dead?”

Alaska feels the world tilt again, her stomach plunging with sudden fear. _No._

“Because Sharon wouldn’t let that happen,” Jinkx says harshly. “That’s - that’s impossible.”

“Roxxxy,” Willam says, her eyes on Jinkx. Her voice is surprisingly gentle, and Alaska follows her gaze to find Jinkx on the brink of tears, her cheeks flushed an angry red. She feels her own pressing against the back of her throat. “Make yourself useful and go get Kameron.”

Roxxxy frowns. “I’m not saying–”

“Just do it,” Morgan cuts in, and Roxxxy turns without further question, making her way up to the tent nearest Sharon’s. Alaska watches her go, nausea still high in her throat and her heart pounding so hard she can feel it in her fingertips. Even with Roxxxy gone, her words are still a shard in the center of Alaska’s chest, something she doesn’t think will go away until Sharon is back and unharmed.

She tries to ignore the doubt creeping into her mind, choosing her anger instead of her distress. Sharon _will_ be alright - if she isn’t, Alaska will do anything to make sure no one else is, either.

“Spill.”

Willam’s piercing voice tugs her out of her thoughts, and she turns her gaze back to the situation at hand, surprised to see anger making itself known in Willam’s expression as she continues, “And if I even get a _feeling_ that you’re lying, Morgan will twist your arm until you start crying for your mother.”

“Luckily for me,” Phi Phi mutters, glaring up at Willam, “I don’t plan on lying.”

“Congratulations,” Willam says, voice flat. “Maybe you’ll get to keep your arm.”

Alaska thinks Phi Phi is lucky that she isn’t the one holding her, panic and anger making her desperate to hit something - desperate to hit Phi Phi, who isn’t as repentant as Alaska thinks she should be. She should be groveling. She should be _begging._

“What were you doing with Sharon?” Jinkx asks after a moment, her voice still shaky, but her expression determined. “Let’s start with that.”

There’s a pause as Phi Phi clearly gets her thoughts in order, frowning as her eyes drift towards the ground. She takes long enough that Roxxxy has time to return with a grave Kameron, and the sight of them has impatience snapping in Alaska’s chest.

“Well?” Alaska snaps, and Phi Phi glares at her.

“Be patient,” she snarls, but her expression softens after a beat, her scowl turning into a slight frown. “It isn’t – It wasn’t my idea,” she starts, “so don’t blame me.”

“I think we’ll decide who to blame when you finish the story,” Willam says, like she’s putting off choosing what she wants Alyssa to cook for dinner. “Which better be the next thing out of your mouth. Otherwise, we’re tying you to the post whether you like it or not.”

Phi Phi scowls, but she takes a deep breath, pressing her lips together. “Sharon decided she wanted to accept Solomon’s peace treaty,” she says, and disbelieving shock once again has Alaska’s organs turning to liquid. Roxxxy clearly feels the same, because she cuts in before Phi Phi can continue.

“She’s lying,” she says, but Willam puts a hand up before Morgan can jostle Phi Phi again. Alaska doesn’t miss the way Willam’s eyes glance towards her, and her heart stutters at the implication.

“Let her finish,” Willam says, looking back at Phi Phi, and Phi Phi waits another moment before continuing.

“I told her that she was lucky, because today is the day that Solomon wanted to meet with her,” she says, and her voice is still, strangely, bitter. “Sharon took me with her in the spirit of the treaty, to give me back. But Solomon didn’t seem very interested in me - just in talking. Stalling.”

“It was a trap,” Willam says, realization dawning in her eyes. “There was no peace treaty.” Alaska’s stomach jolts, her breath catching on an inhale. If Sharon had been right before, but had listened to Alaska’s naivety anyway–

 _She’s an idiot,_ Alaska thinks, her heart hurting. _But so am I._

“No,” Phi Phi says darkly. “There wasn’t. Solomon’s a good actor - he even had _me_ fooled. He got Sharon to shake his hand. He didn’t let go, and Sharon was trying to reach for her gun when suddenly, men were swarming us. They got Sharon pretty fast, and when I tried to help her - well. They didn’t hesitate to shoot at me.” She pauses, hurt flickering across her face before anger settles back onto her features, the emotion clearly easier to handle. Alaska feels her own rise in response. “They shot my horse, and while I was grabbing Sharon’s, another bullet went through my arm. I ran before they could do any more damage. I don’t know what their plan is with Sharon - all I know is that Solomon likes to play with his victims. And Sharon’s certainly one he won’t want to waste.”

There’s a deafening silence as she finishes, and Alaska stares in numb shock before anger starts to pool within her, Phi Phi’s story slowly unfolding within her mind.

Sharon is in danger, very likely already hurt, and it’s Phi Phi’s fault. It makes Alaska clench her fists, the feeling of her nails cutting into her palms only making her angrier.

“So,” she says slowly, her anger forming a typhoon in her chest. “It’s your fault.”

“Alaska–” Jinkx starts, her voice gentle, but Phi Phi beats her to the punch.

“I wasn’t the only one pushing for the peace treaty,” she snaps. “And I’m definitely not the one that convinced Sharon.”

Alaska feels the accusation like a punch to the gut, hurt and regret sharp in her stomach. “How did you–”

“Sharon likes to talk,” Phi Phi sneers. “I don’t think that’s news to anyone here.”

Alaska itches to hurt her, but she stays back, shaking with anger. “You _abandoned_ her,” she says, her voice growing louder. “You left her there to be taken and you stole her only–”

“They were _shooting_ at me!” Phi Phi shouts over her, leaning forwards like she wants to get closer. “My own camp - my own– _argh!”_ She’s cut off with another cry of pain, having pulled a little too hard against Morgan.

“Get her to Katya,” Willam tells Morgan, but Alaska isn’t finished.

As Morgan begins to march Phi Phi towards the med-tent, Alaska steps forward, opening her mouth to snap back, but before she can form any words, a hand closes around her wrist, stopping her from going very far. She flinches, and she whips her head around to find Jinkx looking at her with a worried expression.

“Alaska,” she says, “it wasn’t her fault.”

Anger flashes through Alaska like lightning, and she jerks her hand away, betrayal mixing in with the hurt. “Are you kidding? She–”

“Alaska,” Jinkx repeats, her voice soft, too soft, and Alaska stares at her, her chest heaving with anger, worry, hurt, regret, shock, _guilt–_

She bursts into tears.

Jinkx immediately pulls her into a hug, and Alaska can only resist for a brief moment before she gives in, melting into Jinkx and sobbing into her shoulder. She might not get to fix her mistake - she might be to blame for Sharon’s. Right when she had been about to start a new life, to confess her love and her devotion, it had all been ripped away from her. It’s _unfair,_ and it feels good to cry, to let all of her anger and fear out onto Jinkx, who holds her so tightly that she actually feels something like safety.

“Sharon–” she chokes out, and Jinkx shushes her.

“She’s going to be fine,” she says, but Alaska hears the way her voice wobbles. “She’s always fine. We’ll come up with a plan.”

Alaska nods, desperately clinging to her words with a hope that she can only pray isn’t foolish. She sucks in a shaky breath, slowing her sobs. They’ll get Sharon out of this. They have to. Sharon just has to be strong enough to wait for them, and Alaska has no doubts about that.

She pulls away, still sniffling, and she takes Jinkx’s hands in hers, squeezing them as hard as she can. “Thank you,” she whispers, and Jinkx smiles, her own face streaked with tear tracks.

“It’ll be fine,” she tells her again, and resolve steels in Alaska’s gut at the words.

“We’ll get her out,” she says, and she believes it.

She has to.

🌸

“We’ll be no good to her dead,” Willam is saying, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands. Alaska wraps Jinkx’s shawl around herself a little tighter, shivering despite the fire roaring in front of her, her face uncomfortably warm compared to the rest of her body. “So, sorry, Katya, but storming the place isn’t going to be very successful.”

They’ve been making plans for four hours now, each woman throwing out an idea only to be shot down by Willam or Morgan, both more suited for strategy and logic than any of the other women. The sun set around an hour ago, and impatience is threatening to burst out of Alaska in unfriendly ways.

“Why not?” Katya asks, throwing her hands up. “Brute force is a surefire way to get in there!”

“Did you miss the part where Phi Phi said Solomon is camped out in an old mansion?” Willam asks. “We can’t storm a house like that - it’s too defended.”

“When did we decide to trust Phi Phi, again?” Detox asks, eyeing Phi Phi warily. Phi Phi glares back from her place next to Morgan, her hands and feet both bound with rope. She’d been given two options: the post, or to have her hands and feet restrained. She’d chosen the latter, but she’d still been pissed about it. Alaska can’t find it within herself to have any sympathy for her.

“Stop acting like we haven’t answered that question already, Detox,” Jinkx says, clearly annoyed. “She’s the only person who’s actually seen Solomon’s hideaway.”

“She’s the only person who’s ever been aligned with him!” Roxxxy argues, and Jinkx’s lips flatten.

“For once, can you two not be difficult?”

Roxxxy gives her a dark look. “For once, can you not be–”

“Ladies!” Alyssa interrupts from between them, stretching her hands out to either side of her. “This isn’t a time for arguing, bickering, or hollering! This is why we’ve been sitting here for four hours freezing our asses off!”

“And our tits,” Willam adds. “Can we get back to shooting down everyone’s idiotic plans?”

Katya shrugs, seemingly unbothered. “I never said I was a battle strategist,” she says, and Willam snorts.

“I don’t think we ever thought you were,” she says, and Alaska loses grip on her patience, growing tired of the meandering everyone seems to be doing.

“Are we trying to make a plan?” she asks, her voice sharp. “Or are we just waiting until there’s no reason to make a plan, anymore?”

“We’re making a plan,” Morgan says. “But it’s not like we’re going to ride out as soon as we have one. We need to wait until daylight, so we can scout the camp. It isn’t far.”

“According to Phi Phi,” Roxxxy mutters, but Alaska seems to be the only one that hears it, the others instead training their eyes on Willam, who’s clearing her throat.

“I still think the best plan is to just sneak in, and sneak out,” she says. “We have rifles around the camp, and two of us sneak into the shed to get Sharon out.”

“No doubt there’s a guard,” Morgan says, and Willam nods.

“I can take him out without too much trouble,” she says, “I’m good with a knife.”

“I am too,” Kameron pipes up, her Tennessee drawl practically dripping off of her words. She hadn’t spoken much during the discussion, but when she had, it was only good points. Alaska finds herself trusting her judgement more than some of the other women, despite her unfamiliarity. “Just in case there’s more than one.”

“Good,” Willam says, and Detox makes a displeased sound.

“Revenge can’t be the goal, Detox,” Jinkx says, and it sounds like she’s treading lightly, trying to avoid another fight. “This is the safest way we can get Sharon out. _Alive._ ”

“Solomon needs to pay,” Roxxxy says, and Alaska would be amused by her and Detox’s back and forth routine if a dark part of her wasn’t agreeing with their need for violence. “To let him get away with this unscathed is cowardice.”

“You’re acting like we can’t just return to him with bigger guns,” Katya says.

“If he manages to move camp, we won’t,” Morgan says. “But even if it is one or the other, Sharon’s safety comes first.”

“There has to be a way of getting _both,_ though,” Roxxxy says, and Alaska rolls her lips between her teeth.

“Let’s take a vote,” she says, her heart thrumming beneath her skin, shaky with nerves. The feeling hasn’t ceased since Phi Phi had rounded the corner on Cerrone. “Since clearly, we’re incapable of making any progress by talking it out.”

“Good idea,” Willam says, and she raises her hand, hindered only slightly by her corset. “All in favor of keeping Sharon safe, say ‘aye’.”

“Do you want to be fair, or do you want to be a bitch?” Roxxxy snaps, unamused. Willam shrugs.

“Fine. All in favor of not making things worse, say ‘aye’.”

Katya lets out a wheeze, and Alaska has to hold back her own snort, reluctantly amused. Roxxxy looks murderous.

“Why can’t you just–”

“It’s fine,” Detox says, although she looks annoyed as well. She puts a hand over Roxxxy’s in an attempt to calm her down. “It’s just Willam. It would be pointless to argue.”

“It is me,” Willam says. “And it’s pointless to argue because I’m right. Now, raise your hands up where I can see them.”

Alaska raises her hand without hesitation, although anger does churn in her gut at the thought of Solomon getting away with what he’s done. Sharon comes first - and she’s certain that Sharon would like her own piece of revenge, as well.

Alaska resolves to find Solomon again, if he does escape. With the law off of the table, she’s comfortable serving her own justice. She’s comfortable enacting her own vengeance.

It feels good.

She counts the hands raised, and is surprised to count Detox and Roxxxy’s among them. Willam seems to realize this just a few moments after Alaska, because she puts her hand down with a certain degree of smugness, a small smirk at the corner of her mouth.

“What made y’all change your minds?” she asks, and Roxxxy takes a deep breath.

“We want revenge,” she says. “But not more than we want Sharon safe. It wasn’t a hard decision.”

“Thank you,” Jinkx says, and although Roxxxy avoids looking at her, Detox mirrors her smile easily.

“We’re not always difficult,” she says, and Jinkx’s smile grows.

“Only twenty three hours out of the day,” she says.

“Only when Sharon’s the thing we’re arguing about,” Detox corrects, and the reminder casts a silence over them all, Willam’s plan cementing itself in their minds.

“So,” Katya says, after a few moments, “who will be going tomorrow, and how many bandages should I be prepared to use?”

“Hopefully no bandages,” Willam says, and then she casts a thoughtful glance around the circle of logs, her face almost ghoulish in the firelight. “It’ll be me, Roxxxy, Kameron, Morgan, and Alyssa. Detox still can’t move well, and we need some people at camp just in case it really is a trap.”

“I’m going,” Alaska snaps, panic once again making her stomach dip sickeningly.

“Alaska–”

“I’m _going,_ ” she repeats, meeting Willam’s gaze with as much determination as she feels. She’s going. There’s no other way. She’ll sneak out of camp to follow them, if she has to. “There’s no way in hell I’m going to sit here worrying about what’s happening. I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t shoot,” Willam says. “You haven’t proven any loyalty, you–”

Anger abruptly bursts in Alaska’s chest, the accusation a spear shooting through her body. “I love Sharon more than you could _ever_ know,” she says, and she means it. God, does she mean it. “Don’t talk to me about loyalty - I have given up _everything_ for her. I’m not about to lose one of the things that I got in return.”

There’s a beat of silence as Willam looks at her, her eyes thoughtful. “Alright,” she finally says, and Alaska thinks that her expression might be a little softer. “But you still can’t shoot.”

“She’s sneaky, though,” Roxxxy says, and Alaska stares at her, surprise briefly knocking her anger out of its place. Roxxxy meets her gaze with something like amusement, like she knows her generosity is unexpected. “She got past Detox and I the first night she was here, and I woke up today when Detox shifted just a little too violently. She can help get Sharon out of whatever hole they have her tied up in.”

Alaska finds herself puffing up a little, pride swelling in her chest and hope threading through it as she looks at Willam expectantly. Willam holds her stare for a long moment, impassive, before she suddenly sighs, relaxing a little with exasperation.

“Fine,” she says, and Alaska lets out the breath that she’d been holding.

“Thank you,” she breathes, and Jinkx takes her hand, squeezing it. Willam rolls her eyes.

“If this is some stupid attempt to get back at me–”

“It’s not,” Roxxxy interrupts. “I think she’s a good addition. And I think she needs to be there - God knows I know what it’s like to worry over someone you love.”

“She’s right,” Alaska says, and she believes it. “I know what I’m doing. And we’re going to get Sharon out.”

🌸

Alaska can’t sleep.

It’s her second night without Sharon, and the empty space beside her feels like ice, like Sharon’s warmth had been the only thing standing between her and the cold darkness. She curls up on Sharon’s bedroll to help fill the emptiness she can’t stop feeling in her chest, burying her face into her pillow to breath in the other woman’s scent, but she still feels her absence like a bullet wedged between her ribs.

She can’t stop thinking about where Sharon is instead, her heart pounding so hard that she feels like she might vomit. Her stomach churns as she thinks about Sharon tied up somewhere, about Sharon getting hurt, about Sharon getting tortured, about Sharon getting _killed–_

She squeezes her eyes shut, a few tears spilling over her cheeks and onto Sharon’s pillow. There’s no point in thinking about it - they’re leaving as soon as they can, and they can’t help whatever happens before that. Even still, nightmarish images continue to flash behind her eyelids, and she gives into the little sob that crawls up her throat.

Jinkx had invited her to sleep with her and Alyssa, but Alaska had refused, the thought of Sharon’s tent standing empty making her heart ache. It was an irrational feeling, but it had felt dangerously symbolic, so she had told Jinkx that she’d rather be alone.

She regrets it, now.

Sharon’s tent feels dark and unfamiliar without the fury that had clouded her thoughts the night previous, and it makes her jumpy as well as distressed, every snap of a branch or sigh of the wind making her tense up. Jinkx had lent her a revolver once again, telling her that Alyssa’s sharp aim would be enough to cover her if something happened, but it still feels strange in Alaska’s hands, the trigger too close and the handle too thick.

She still doesn’t trust Phi Phi. Her hurt does seem real, and both Willam and Sharon have cited her as a bad actress, but Alaska can’t bring herself to forgive Phi Phi’s part in how Sharon was taken. She may have been innocent, but she’s the one who knows Solomon best - she should have seen through his lie. She should have known that peace was never on his agenda.

That said, Sharon should have as well.

Alaska would be lying if she said a tiny part of her wasn’t also upset with Sharon’s role in this disaster. She had been so resistant to it when Alaska had asked, when they had been on good terms (and the thought that they still aren’t makes Alaska’s stomach twist) – what had made her decide to go against her own judgement? To forget about his previous betrayal and give him a second chance? It seems so stupid, and Alaska wants to take her by the shoulders, ask her what had made her act so foolish so suddenl–

It hits her like a ton of bricks.

Sharon was trying to apologize.

Alaska can recall their fight almost to the word, but this time, it’s not Sharon’s words that work their way under her skin - instead, it’s her own.

_You expect me to make these changes for you, Sharon, but you aren’t even willing to budge for me!_

Sharon must have been making an attempt, some stupid, grand gesture to entice Alaska back into camp. She’d just picked the wrong thing to bend on.

Warmth flutters up in Alaska’s chest, love and pleasure briefly settling the torrent of emotions still running through her, but guilt snuffs it quickly. She’s just as culpable as Sharon and Phi Phi - perhaps even more so. If she hadn’t been so selfish - if she had just taken a moment to _think_ about how Sharon has changed for her - if she had thought about her words before she spit them out–

She inhales when she realizes that she’s holding her breath, breathing in more of Sharon’s scent as she does. She comforts herself with the thought that Sharon was trying to make amends - clearly, Alaska hadn’t broken their relationship beyond repair.

Sharon hadn’t told anyone where she was going - she was likely expecting to be back before Alaska left. Or, she hadn’t expected Alaska to leave at all.

Guilt once again drops into her stomach like an anchor, but she wipes it away the best that she can, already nauseous with fear and anger. Sharon had told her to leave. Sharon should have been smart enough to talk to her, rather than leaving without telling anyone why.

God, she _misses_ her.

Alaska wraps her blankets around herself more tightly, curling further into herself. She needs to sleep, she needs to be sharp for tomorrow, but she doesn’t think her heart rate is going to slow anytime soon. She can’t sleep when she knows Sharon probably isn’t either - when she knows that Sharon probably _can’t._

 _We’ll save her,_ she tells herself, clenching her fists into the blankets. _We can do it._

She trusts Willam - she trusts that she knows what she’s doing. Willam knows how to play the game, how to navigate this world even better than Jinkx, and she cares about Sharon. The thought soothes some of Alaska’s anxiety.

She trusts the women at camp. It’s not a sudden realization, but one that’s been coming for a long time, creeping in like fog down the mountain tops. It’s comforting to be able to finally trust, to finally feel like she belongs amongst these women that she had once found so frightening and alien.

She trusts them to get Sharon back. She trusts them to protect her while they do it. She trusts them.

She finally drifts off, clinging to her realization with a desperation she doesn’t think she’s ever felt before, the idea comforting enough that she can allow herself to let go of how her stomach twists at every thought.

They _will_ save Sharon, and Alaska _will_ see her again.

She has to.

🌸

Solomon’s camp can hardly be called a camp - it’s a house, nestled in the foothills of the mountains and abandoned (no doubt) due to a poor foundation, with a barn and a tool shed not far from it. Men mill around the place like ants, and Alaska has to squint to see them with any clarity, their vantage point just far enough that binoculars are required.

She’s exhausted - she’d been woken by nightmares throughout the night, and it had felt like she’d gotten only five minutes of sleep before Willam had nudged her awake, the toe of her boot sharp against Alaska’s side. She’d worried over the headache that had been pressing against the backs of her eyes as they’d all reviewed the plan, but now, as she looks down at the shed that Sharon is being kept in, she feels more awake than she’d been since Honard, adrenaline making her headache vanish and her body wired with energy.

“There isn’t a guard by the shed,” Willam says, her binoculars pressed up against her eyes. “Was Phi Phi a hundred percent on the shed being where hostages get tied up?”

“She was,” Morgan says. “Someone’s probably inside with her.”

Alaska feels nausea leap into her throat at the implication, turning from Morgan’s face to look back down at the shed, hatred boiling in her gut. She wants to run to it, sprint to Sharon and get her out as fast as she can, but she forces herself to relax. They were scouting first for a reason - running down only to be apprehended by a man hiding in the bushes wouldn’t be much use to Sharon.

Willam heaves a sigh. “Shit,” she mutters, and she’s silent for a moment before she speaks again. “Well, that’ll make him easier to kill.”

Alaska glances at the wicked knife at Willam’s hip, and she thinks about it in someone’s back. It doesn’t make her stomach dip with dread, and the satisfaction of knowing that it will be going into someone possibly hurting Sharon doesn’t scare her. Instead, it makes her more anxious to put the plan into motion, to speed things along faster. She’s willing to kill if it means that Sharon won’t be. Anything to make sure Sharon isn’t hurt any more.

“Looks like Kameron, Roxxxy, and Alyssa are in position,” Morgan says, and Willam nods.

“Good,” she says. “Let Alaska borrow your binoculars, so that I can tell her exactly where we’ll be going.”

Morgan passes her binoculars over wordlessly, shifting into a shooting position as Alaska takes them, her rifle pressed right up against her cheek. Alaska takes a deep breath at the sight of her before raising the binoculars to her face, turning back to the shed. They’re doing this. Nerves shoot through her at the thought, but she steels herself against them, nothing but _Sharon_ echoing through her mind.

She’s ready.

“Alright,” Willam starts, as soon as Alaska finishes adjusting the binoculars. “We’re going to keep at least a hundred foot difference until the shed is between us and that ugly house. We’ll creep up the side facing us right now. I’ll go in first, while you stand guard. I’ll kill whoever’s in there, and I’ll grab Sharon - be prepared to help carry her back up here, the same way we came. I don’t know what kind of - what kind of condition she’ll be in.” Her voice dips a little as she stutters over the words, and fear runs through Alaska in response, crawling under her skin like ants.

“Alright,” Alaska says, trying her best to keep her voice from warbling. She succeeds, mostly. “Got it.”

“You can’t fuck it up,” Willam warns, her eyes serious when she turns to look at Alaska. “We can’t afford that right now.”

“I won’t,” Alaska says, and she means it. She’s never been good with following instructions, but she thinks that for Sharon, she’d do anything. “You can trust me.”

“I have to, at this point,” Willam says, but Alaska sees her relax somewhat. She takes a breath, taking one last look over the shed before she sets the binoculars down. “Are you ready?”

Alaska copies her, sucking in a deep breath. She draws up her anger, her worry, her love. “Yes,” she says, and she lets some of her emotion shine through. Willam nods at her.

“Morgan?” she says, and Morgan grunts. “Flash the mirror. We’re going.”

Morgan looks back at Willam, her eyebrows raised. “Good fucking luck,” she says, and Willam starts crawling back down the little hill they’d been on.

“Good fucking luck,” Willam repeats grimly, and it sounds rehearsed, like it’s an old joke that’s suddenly gone sour. She stands as soon as the top of their small ledge is at eye level, dusting off the pants that she’d changed into for this. Alaska is grateful for her own as she follows Willam’s lead, going a little further down to accommodate for her height.

Willam waits for Morgan to take a small mirror out of her pocket, using it to flash the bright sunlight at the other side of the camp, signalling to Alyssa and Kameron that the plan is being set in motion. Then, she turns to Alaska.

“Draw your gun,” she says. “They’ll be on their guard now that they have Sharon, but don’t shoot unless it’s absolutely necessary. Follow my lead.”

Alaska obeys, pulling the worn gun that she’d found at the bottom of one of Sharon’s drawers from the holster at her hip, the grip comfortable in her hands. For the first time, wielding a gun feels natural, and she doesn’t know if it’s because she’s held one enough times, or if it’s because this one belongs to Sharon.

They creep along the path that Willam had planned out earlier, low to the ground and on the lookout for any eyes turned their way. Alaska’s heart stutters a couple of times when a member of the camp turns towards them, but there are enough trees that their eyes skip over them each time.

It’s hard not to sprint towards the shed, her instincts screaming at her that running is the safest route, that the less time they can be seen in, the better, but she forces herself to match Willam’s slow crawl, the logic of moving too slow to be noticeable winning. It seems to be working, judging by the lack of trouble they’ve run into so far.

As they near the shed, however, a voice far too close makes them freeze, Willam glancing panickedly over at Alaska, who can only stare back with wide-eyed fear.

_Fuck._

“–yeah, he’s in with Needles.”

“Vanhern?”

“Yeah. For his brother.”

Willam waves her arm desperately at Alaska, silently urging her to come closer. Alaska does, as quickly as she can assume is safe, and Willam grabs her wrist, yanking her down so that they’re both crouching behind a particularly thick bunch of bushes.

Almost a second later, they hear the sound of spurred boots approaching, the voices growing louder. Alaska imagines that they’d only gone unnoticed because the two men were too wrapped up in each other to even think to look out for anything.

“Good,” the man with the higher voice sneers. “He’s wanted revenge for a while now. That bitch deserves whatever he’s doing to her.”

Alaska freezes, still with overwhelming anger. Her heart starts pounding so hard it hurts, and she tightens her grip on her gun, squeezing so hard her knuckles turn white. What the hell are they doing to Sharon?

“You gonna go for a turn?” the deeper baritone asks. “I was thinkin’ about it.”

“Me too,” the other man says. Alaska can hear the grin in his voice, and it makes her stomach churn. “It’d be the most fun I’ve had in years. I heard she’s real pretty.”

Alaska sees red.

She goes to stand, ready to fire at them point blank, but Willam’s hand over her own has her jerking to a stop. She glares at the other woman only to be met with a warning stare, but it’s the way Willam’s chest seems to be heaving with a similar rage that has Alaska backing down.

Sharon’s safety is priority - she can’t fuck it up before they’ve even seen her.

“A real pretty bitch,” the baritone laughs. “Perfect. I think I might just have to ask Dutch for some time with her, too.”

“You think Dutch’ll get in trouble for how often he’s leaving his post?”

“Sounds like Dutch’s problem.”

Vomit rises to the back of Alaska’s throat as they laugh, her anger only making her stomach twist harder. She can’t even feel the relief she should as she hears them start to walk away, her fury making her hands shake uncontrollably as she stares resolutely at the leaves on the bush she and Willam are crouched behind.

Willam grabs her wrists, steadying them with an unyielding grip. Alaska looks up at her to find an intense expression looking back at her, Willam’s impenetrable facade finally cracking to reveal more anger than she’d expected.

“Don’t let them get to you,” Willam whispers harshly, shaking Alaska’s wrists a little for emphasis. “We’re getting Sharon out, and we need you on your best game. Put your anger in a box for now. Focus.”

“What is that, your morning routine?” Alaska sneers, but regret instantly plunges in her stomach as Willam’s face flickers with hurt. “Sorry,” she whispers. “I know you’re trying to help.”

“I’m trying to help Sharon,” Willam says, her voice hard. “Don’t forget that. You ready?”

Alaska sucks in a deep breath, nodding. Willam nods back, and she immediately starts towards the shed again, after a quick, cautionary look around them for any other surprise visitors. Alaska follows without hesitation, her eyes trained on the shed, Sharon her only goal.

They don’t have much farther to go, and soon they’re pressed up against the splintered wood of the shed, the sound of a man talking bleeding through the panels. Willam looks back at Alaska from her place in front, raising a finger to her lips. She fingers the knife at her belt, and Alaska follows her as she slides along the wall, close to the edge.

The shed, luckily, marks the outskirts of Solomon’s camp, with the mansion, the firepit, and the men around it on the other side of the shed, the barn acting as the marker for the opposite end. Alaska spots the two men that had passed them earlier walking just ahead, circling the perimeter, and she knows Willam has spotted them as well.

They wait an eternity for the men to disappear behind the mansion, Alaska growing sweaty from the baking sunlight and the man’s voice inside droning on and on. She tries not to think about how there’s no one responding to him.

The moment the two perimeter guards are out of sight, they curve around the edge of the shed, Willam taking one side of the crooked door, and Alaska the other, both still pressed flat against the wall.

Willam begins counting with her fingers, mouthing the numbers along with them.

_One, two, th–_

The man suddenly begins shouting, making both Alaska and Willam jump. Alaska’s heart stops beating for a moment, frozen with fear as the man’s words echo out of the shed with disturbing clarity.

“Don’t got a response for that either, bitch?” he shouts, and Alaska shivers at the raw anger his voice holds. “How about now?”

There’s a horrifying moment of silence, before a sob of pain bursts out, the voice clearly Sharon’s.

Alaska’s blood turns to ice.

She’s moving before she can think twice about it, wrenching her wrist away from Willam’s desperate attempt to stop her with surprising ease. All she can hear is the blood rushing through her ears, and she kicks the door open, the adrenaline rushing through her making it feel like no more than tissue paper.

Both occupants of the room jump as the door bangs against the wall, and Alaska takes in the scene before her quickly, the room strangely warm. Her eyes hone in on Sharon immediately - pale, gasping for breath, and her head bent, dark hair like a curtain in front of her face - and the man crouching in front of her, the back of his shirt drenched with sweat.

He holds a red hot poker in his right hand. Alaska sees the matching burn mark on Sharon’s shoulder, the edges of her shirt blackened from being burned through. Her heart stops at the sight, tears blurring her vision as an uncontrollable anger washes over her.

“Sharon,” she chokes out, and Sharon lifts her head, her eyes widening.

“Alaska?” she breathes out, chest still heaving. Tear tracks stain down her cheeks, flushed from the heat. Alaska can see her shaking from where she stands, and anger makes her want to sob. “What are you–”

“What the hell?” the man interrupts, standing abruptly. Alaska meets his gaze with a protective fire in her veins, and she raises her revolver, both hands gripping the handle like a lifeline. The man’s eyes grow huge.

Clarity is a sharp accompanist to her fury: she understands, now. She understands what it’s like to choose between protecting those you love and society’s moral code. The decision is easier than she’d expected.

“Alaska,” Willam says from behind her, her voice sharp. “Don’t–”

Alaska pulls the trigger.

The recoil rattles her a little, the gunshot ringing in her ears, and she watches as the man collapses, clutching his stomach and screaming bloody murder.

“God _damnit,_ Alaska!” Willam snarls, pushing past her into the shed and slamming the door shut behind her. Shouts can just barely be heard over the man’s screeching. “Great _fucking_ work!”

Alaska stumbles with the force of Willam’s shove, unable to do much but stare at the man writhing on the floor, thick blood coating his fingers as he holds his torso. She’d done that. Nausea rises in her throat at the sight of his face, twisted with agony. _She’d done that._

She feels satisfaction spreading from the core of her out to her fingertips. She’d _done_ that.

Her attention immediately snaps to Sharon, _Sharon,_ who’s staring at her like she’s just grown a second head, her eyebrows raised and her jaw slack.

Relief rushes through Alaska so fast that her knees nearly buckle beneath her, and she stumbles towards Sharon, falling to her knees before the other woman. She cups Sharon’s face with both hands, taking her in - her blue eyes, her flushed cheeks, the arch of her eyebrows. “ _Sharon,_ ” she breathes, the word nearly a sob, “thank _god._ ”

She hears Willam shoot, but she barely registers the gunshot, the man’s sudden silence more comforting than disturbing. Sharon gives her a wobbly smile, the gap between her teeth just barely visible.

“I’m never tying anyone up again,” she says, her laugh sounding more like a sob. “This sucks.”

“I love you,” Alaska says, her voice breaking. “ _Sharon_.”

She lunges forwards, pressing her lips against Sharon’s desperately, love and affection and worry and relief all swirling in her chest as Sharon kisses back. It’s salty from tears and sweat, but Alaska can’t bring herself to mind, enjoying the feeling of Sharon’s warmth beneath her, the other woman solid and finally in her arms.

It feels like a weight being lifted off of her chest, and she suddenly wants to say it again. And again, and again, and again. She pulls away, brushing Sharon’s soaked curls away from her face. “I _love_ you,” she says, her voice wobbly. “I _love_ you, Sharon Needles. Thank _god._ ”

“I love you too,” Sharon tells her, her voice raspier than usual. Her eyes are bright with emotion. “Alaska, I–”

“Later,” Alaska interrupts, rubbing a thumb over Sharon’s cheek. _She’s alive._ “We need to move fast.”

“I assume shooting Hamilton wasn’t a part of the plan?” Sharon asks as Alaska slides her hands down to mess with the ropes binding her ankles to the legs of the chair, her fingers frustratingly shaky with adrenaline.

“Killing him was,” Alaska says, guilt beginning to trickle into her gut. She can hear shots firing outside of the shed, and Willam shooting back, shouting insults and taunts through the large hole that had been in the side of the door. There had been two rules to the plan: be quiet, and don’t be seen. Alaska had managed to fuck both up royally.

The rope holding Sharon’s left foot loosens, falling to the ground. Alaska immediately starts on the left one, ignoring the way her fingers throb with rope splinters.

“Well,” Sharon says, her voice light. Alaska realizes, with a pang, that she’s trying to comfort Alaska. She thinks, vehemently, that it should be the other way around. “I’ve never been good at the sneak attacks Willam’s so fond of, so I can’t blame you.”

“I never would have guessed,” Alaska shoots back, and Sharon lets out a faint laugh.

“Doesn’t sound very like me, does it?”

Alaska’s fingers slip on the knot for what feels like the third time, and she curses, panic bubbling up in her chest. If she doesn’t get this done quickly enough–

A knife suddenly clatters down beside her, and she flinches, whirling around only to see that Willam had been the culprit.

“It’s a knife,” Willam says, her voice calm as she quickly reloads her rifle. “Use it.” A bullet cracks through the wood a few feet to the left of her, and Alaska startles violently. Willam doesn’t seem phased, turning to poke her rifle through the hole and shouting something unintelligible out at their assailants.

Alaska grabs the knife, her eyebrow twitching a little at how heavy is it, warm from where it’d been against Willam’s hip. She carefully slides it between Sharon’s leg and the rope, sawing with as much force as she can muster. It snaps within seconds, the rope splitting into three sections as it hits the floor.

She lets out a breath. “Thank fuck,” she breathes, and she stands, rounding Sharon to work on the rope binding her hands together. She’s taken aback by what she finds, rage making more tears spring to her eyes.

The rope is double layered around Sharon’s wrists, and Alaska can see the rope burns peeking out beneath it, painful looking blisters rubbed raw from a day’s worth of struggle. “Jesus,” she says, anger and concern making her voice harsh, and she begins cutting at the rope, sawing with a new fury.

The rope falls to pieces, and Sharon gasps with the sudden relief, bringing her hands around to cradle them against her ribcage, flexing her hands as she does so. Alaska sucks in her own breath, moving to kneel in front of Sharon again.

“You definitely have a fever,” she says, glancing at the blotchy red spots high on Sharon’s cheekbones. “Rope burns, and a fucking burn on your shoulder. Anything else?”

“I’m fine,” Sharon says, but she’s shaking, and she hasn’t made any attempt to stand up. She’s still babying her wrists, and Alaska takes one of her hands, squeezing it as panicked concern races through her like lightning.

“You’re not,” she snaps. “We don’t have time for you to lie to us. What else did these bastards do to you?”

Sharon presses her lips together, her lower lip wobbling. Alaska feels like sobbing at the sight of her. “Two burns on the palms of my hands,” she says hurriedly, and Alaska turns the hand she’s holding over, her stomach twisting at the sight of a large welt in the center of Sharon’s palm, bright red and cracked with recent stress, bloodying her hands. “That’s the most of it. I’m pretty sure my ribs are bruised.”

Alaska takes a shuddering breath, pressing her lips to the heel of Sharon’s hand, just below the burn. “I’m glad I shot him,” she says, anger like she’s never felt before rushing through her. “I’m _glad_ he suffered.”

She looks up at Sharon’s face, her chest heaving, and Sharon looks back at her with something like pride, although her eyes are sad.

“Alaska–”

“Guys,” Willam says suddenly, and Sharon’s eyes immediately snap to behind Alaska. Alaska turns, something about the timber of Willam’s voice setting her on edge. Willam stares back at them, her face pale. “Solomon’s just stepped out. He’s calling off his men - he’s asking for a ceasefire.”

Sharon’s face slowly hardens, the vulnerability that had been so visible now hidden behind the mask of a woman who’s murdered more men than Alaska can count. Alaska doesn’t think she’s ever been so relieved to see it.

“Do it,” she says, determination coloring her voice. “Let’s see what he wants.”

Alaska frowns at her, a bad feeling making her heart twist. “Sharon,” she says. “Don’t. Whatever you’re doing–”

“If he wants what I think he wants,” Sharon says, her eyes sparking with anger and resolution. “Then I’ll let him have it. I want it, too.”

“What?” Alaska snaps. “What could he possibly want?”

“Revenge. Fair and square.”

The world outside falls silent, and Willam slowly pulls the door open, sliding her mirror back into her shirt pocket. From the doorway, they have a good view of the mansion, from which a man in denim jeans and a dusty jacket is strolling, his hat tilted proudly back from his face.

Lawrence Solomon.

He’s older - in his sixties, if Alaska had to guess. Clean shaven, with black hair that’s mostly gone gray. His eyes are deep set, and the blue of them is empty like a coffin waiting to be occupied.

Alaska doesn’t think she’s ever felt hatred like this before.

She watches, nausea churning in her gut, as he walks towards the shed, his hands free of any weaponry. A gun glitters at his thigh, however, catching the sunlight, and Alaska readjusts her grip on her own revolver at the sight of it.

“Stop there,” Willam says as Solomon nears them, and he stops without question, around thirty feet away. “What do you want?”

“Needles,” he says, and his voice is deep, gravelly. It makes the hairs on Alaska’s arms stand on end, and she glances at Sharon, protectiveness surging through her. Sharon looks disgusted, an intense fury lying just behind her eyes.

“I want to do this the old fashioned way. Me and Needles, twenty paces apart, one shot each. This is between us.”

“You’re just upset that we have the upper hand,” Willam calls back. “Of course she’s not–”

“I’ll do it,” Sharon says, and Alaska’s breath gets caught in her throat.

“No,” she says, as Willam turns to stare at them. “You won’t.”

“I will,” Sharon says, but as she makes to stand up, she nearly falls, her legs unsteady beneath her. Alaska grabs her wrist as she rights herself, breathing hard. If Sharon goes out there like this–

“You can barely stand,” she says, her voice thick with frustration and tears. “You can’t even use your hands. You’re _not_ going out there.”

“I’ll manage,” Sharon grits out.

“ _Sharon–_ ”

“Just try and stop me,” Sharon snaps, and Alaska lets out a desperate breath, squeezing Sharon’s wrist to try and make her understand what a bad idea this is.

“I’m waiting!” Solomon singsongs from outside, and Alaska sucks in another breath at the sound of his voice.

“You’ll die,” she whispers in an attempt to keep her tears at bay. It isn’t working. “Sharon, you can’t die, not when I just got you back. _Please._ ”

Sharon’s face softens, and she pulls Alaska into a soft kiss, the hand Alaska isn’t holding coming to rest against her jaw. Alaska kisses her back pleadingly, her gut twisting as Sharon pulls away with a grim expression.

“I need to do this,” she says, and it’s with such finality that Alaska can’t bring herself to stop her from pulling her wrist away, her heart in her throat. “I’m the fastest draw in Colorado,” Sharon tells her as she slowly walks towards the door, smirking confidently. “I’ll win. Don’t worry.”

She grabs her holster from where it was hanging by the door, slinging it across her hips. Alaska feels another tug at her stomach. _No._

“Sharon–”

“I love you,” Sharon says. And then, before Alaska can say it back, she steps out of the shed and towards Solomon, who greets her with a grin.

Alaska _hates_ him.

She walks up to stand next to Willam in the doorway, watching nervously as Sharon and Solomon exchange quiet words, Sharon’s face hidden with her back turned to them, but Solomon’s face betraying narrow eyed anger.

“You know how this works?” Willam asks, her eyes never leaving the two leaders. Alaska nods, watching as they stand, back to back, their profiles serious and their guns safe in their holsters.

“Yeah,” she whispers. She thinks she might vomit.

She’d read about duels often as a child, the tradition clogging her history lessons and her favorite novels despite its illegality. The opponents stand, backs touching. They each take ten steps forward, on the count of three. They turn around. They fire.

To win requires a delicate balance of talent and luck, and Alaska can’t stop thinking about Sharon’s condition, about the burns scorched into her palms or the fever burning on her cheeks.

She’s seen how quick Sharon’s draw is, experienced how terrifying it can be. She just doesn’t know if she’ll live up to it after being knocked down so hard.

They begin taking their steps, and Alaska unconsciously tightens her grip on her gun, her finger coming to rest on the trigger. A horrible dread prickles down her spine, and she keeps her eyes on Solomon, despite how his proper posture and his neat steps say otherwise.

_One._

Sharon’s chin is up, her expression resolute.

_Two._

The buttons on Solomon’s jacket catch the sunlight like flashes of lit gunpowder.

_Three._

Sharon’s hair blows in the summer wind, startlingly soft against what she’s about to do.

_Four._

Solomon’s hand moves to hover at his hip.

_Five._

Solomon stops, glancing behind him towards Sharon. Alaska’s heart leaps into her mouth.

_Six._

Solomon turns, pulling his gun out of his holster with wicked speed.

_Seven._

A gunshot echoes off of the mountains, deafeningly loud. It leaves Alaska’s ears ringing.

_Eight._

Everyone freezes.

Alaska stares at Solomon as he falls to the ground, silent, a bullet hole through his temple. She feels nothing, watching a thin plume of smoke rise from her gun. She feels everything, watching Sharon turn, her own gun already in her hands, and stare at Solomon’s body with expressionless shock.

Willam looks at her, a new appreciation in her eyes. “Good fucking job, bitch,” she says, and Alaska lets out a relieved laugh before vomit suddenly crawls up her throat, and she stumbles out of the shed to puke into the grass, her gun falling uselessly out of her shaking hands.

Everything erupts into chaos.

There aren’t many men left, but the ones that are start shooting immediately, and the sound of gunshots fill the clearing once again. Alaska can hardly bring herself to care, shock still numbing her, distancing her, and she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, still shaking violently.

She’s just killed a man.

She doesn’t regret it.

She takes in a shaky breath. She doesn’t regret it. It was his life or Sharon’s. He’d broken the rules to kill the woman she loved. He _deserved_ it.

She looks up when everything falls quiet again, looking around at the dead men littering the ground. She can’t see Sharon, and she’s just beginning to panic when a hand suddenly touches her wrist.

She startles, whirling around to find Sharon beside her, her brow furrowed with concern and her eyes filled with pride. She lets out the breath she’d been holding, and it comes out more like a sob.

“Wanna explain to me what just happened, back there?” Sharon asks gently, and Alaska wants nothing more than to just hold onto her and never let go.

Alaska falls into her, shaking, and Sharon’s arms come up to hold her tightly. Alaska buries her face into the crook of her neck, relief coming over her in waves.

Sharon is safe. Solomon is gone.

Sharon is _safe._

“I love you,” she whispers into Sharon’s skin.

“I love you too.”

🌸

The road back to camp is a rough one, but easy enough, all things considered.

The afternoon sun beats down on them as they pick their way back, moving slowly to accommodate for Sharon’s ribs, unwilling to make anything worse despite Sharon’s insistence that she can take more than the slow gait they’ve settled into.

Sharon rides with Alaska, unable to grip Cerrone’s reins on her own due to the burns in the center of her palms, her back pressed to Alaska’s front, her head resting against Alaska’s shoulder. She’d made a lewd comment or two about ‘riding with Alaska’, smirking and being generally obnoxious, but her eyes had fluttered closed after around a half hour of riding, exhaustion and fever ultimately taking over. Alaska kisses the top of her head, affection swelling in her chest and relief still coursing through her veins.

_Sharon is safe._

The thought keeps echoing through Alaska’s head, and she wraps the arm she has around Sharon tighter, relishing in the feeling of her weight pressed against her. Emotion is a ball in her throat still, relief and love palpable on her tongue, but she also feels pride in her fingertips, in the corners of her mouth.

She’d saved Sharon.

She’d killed Solomon with one shot, adrenaline and the strength of her urgency making the world slow down, allowing her to line up her shot without hesitation and pull the trigger. She’d shot before he could, shot faster without thinking than he had with forethought - she’d _won_.

She’s proven her worth. She belongs amongst these women, these hardened criminals with kind eyes and even kinder hearts. She belongs to Sharon, who’d put a bullet in more than one man to protect Alaska, who’d sworn to always shoot for Alaska.

_I’ll protect you, Alaska - I keep my word, and even if you shoot like a goddamn gunslinger, I’ll shoot before you have to._

Sharon had never broken her promise. Love is warm in Alaska’s belly as she glances down at her, her own promise curling itself around her heart.

She will always protect Sharon, no matter how high the cost.

Always.

🌸

That night, Alaska sleeps as close to Sharon as she physically can.

She wraps her arms around her lover’s waist, careful of her bruised ribs, and she buries her face into her dark hair, breathing her in. Emotion balls up in her throat, and she squeezes her eyes shut, tears making her eyelashes damp.

Sharon shifts against her, touching the back of her forearm with her hand.

“Lasky?”

Their arrival at camp had been joyous, Jinkx, Katya, and Detox all running towards them as their horses rounded the corner, abandoning Phi Phi and their game of poker by the fire pit. It had taken them three hours to get to Solomon’s camp, and with the way they’d picked their way back, careful of their injured cargo, it had taken twice as long to return. Evening light had tinged everything with an orange glow as they’d slid off of their horses, shaky with relief, and the fire had been lit, the smell of stew wafting towards them tantalizingly.

It had felt like coming home.

Detox’s screeching laugh had been familiar, and Katya’s odd beratements as she and Alaska had helped Sharon down from Cerrone had been comforting, her lighthearted notes about ointments and bandages soothing Alaska’s worry almost completely. Jinkx’s smile was bright, relieved tears in her eyes as she tugged Sharon into a long embrace, and Alaska had watched them with affection, warmth spreading from her chest down to the tips of her fingers.

Sharon had bragged about Alaska, pulling her in for another deep kiss for the entire camp to witness, and Alaska had blushed into it, her fingers coming up to thread through Sharon’s hair. Katya had whistled, Willam had called them ‘disgusting’, and Alyssa had given them a sly look as they’d broken apart, like she knew exactly how badly they’d wanted to take things further. Sharon had given her the middle finger, grinning like a loon, her own cheeks flushed with fever and exhilaration.

It had felt like coming home.

“Alaska?” Sharon repeats, her voice louder with concern. She turns over in Alaska’s arms so that they’re face to face, their noses just inches apart. Her brow is furrowed. “Are you alright? I thought I heard a sniffle.”

Alaska feels love well up within her, and she laughs, her voice wet with emotion. “I just–” she cuts herself off, her voice wobbling dangerously. The stress of the past two days is suddenly catching up to her, her relief abruptly overwhelming. “Thank _god_ you’re okay.”

Sharon gives her a sad smile, raising a hand to brush some of Alaska’s hair out of her face. Her bandages are a bluish white in the filtered moonlight, thick around her palm and wrist. Alaska’s heart aches at the sight. “Still on about that, are we?”

“Yeah,” Alaska says, the joke feeling something like salt in a wound. “We are. Sharon, you were _kidnapped._ Solomon was doing god knows what to you, and no one knew for half of that time. All we had was fucking _Phi Phi_ to go off of, and all I could think was that the last thing I said to you was that I didn’t love you, and it was _killing me,_ Sharon.” Tears are flowing freely, now, and Alaska’s voice cracks as she continues, cupping Sharon’s face desperately, searching her expression in the darkness of the tent. “I could have lost you.”

“You didn’t,” Sharon says softly, wrapping her hand around Alaska’s wrist, holding her hand in place. “I’m right here. I’m sorry _._ ”

They lapse into silence, Alaska trying her best to calm herself down and Sharon stroking her wrist with her thumb, lowering their hands so that they’re resting between them. Alaska can hear the crickets chirping outside, the wind softly whistling around the canvas of the tent.

Sharon takes a deep breath after a moment, breaking the quiet that had surrounded them like a bubble. “That fight was all I could think about,” she whispers, looking into Alaska’s eyes with something like regret. “I thought for sure that you had left, that you would be too far for me to chase after you by the time I managed to get away. I’m just so goddamn stupid - I felt like such an _idiot._ I kept going through all of the things I said, all of the things _you_ said, and I–” her voice breaks, and Alaska’s heart breaks along with it. “I’m sorry.”

“I did leave,” Alaska tells her, and the hurt that flashes across Sharon’s face makes her heart twist painfully. “I was so angry. I thought you’d broken your promise, I felt like– I was betrayed. I thought I didn’t belong here - that I _couldn’t_. But then I realized just how _badly_ I was wrong - thank god for that.”

Sharon is shaking her head as she finishes, looking at Alaska beseechingly. “Lasky, I didn’t break my promise. I was just so _angry–”_

“I know,” Alaska interrupts, and she laughs a little at Sharon’s surprised expression. “I promised Willam not to fuck things up, today. You see how that went.”

Sharon gives her a warm smile that slowly spreads across her face. “That’s my girl,” she says, approving, and Alaska flushes with pleasure.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have - I didn’t know what I was talking about, that night. I was stupid, and scared. Scared of how much I’d changed, scared of how much I _loved_ you–”

Sharon cuts her off with a kiss.

Alaska melts into it, love and affection threatening to burst from her chest. She slips her hands into Sharon’s hair, her thumbs resting on the corners of her jawline, delightfully warm. She sighs as Sharon deepens the kiss, heat pooling in her belly.

She breaks the kiss as Sharon attempts to slide on top of her, gently pushing her back down. She smirks at Sharon’s wide eyes, excitement flickering in her chest. God, she loves this woman.

“Not tonight,” she says, raising herself up to straddle Sharon’s hips, cupping the sides of her face. She leans down so that their lips are just centimeters apart, unable to keep from smiling at the new heat in Sharon’s gaze, at the smirk that’s beginning to curl at the corner of her mouth.

“No?” she asks, and Alaska gives her a smirk of her own, shaking her head.

“No. Tonight,” she says, “I’ve got you.”

She pulls Sharon in for another kiss, meaning the words with every fiber of her being. She belongs to Sharon, and Sharon belongs to her. They have each other.

Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HOPE YOU LIKED IT!! Writing this was difficult for a multitude of reasons - there's been a new thing to stress about literally every day this week - but mostly, it was because it was the end. 
> 
> If you want an epilogue, or any little side stories, PLEASE, let me know! Any excuse for me to stick with this fic for just a little longer. I'll be writing other things, hopefully soon, but this thing is my baby. She really is going to college, y'all.
> 
> the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6xuTbkNvtHC6By0k4D66gP?si=IJmRd39FTT6jA3u3I2uezg
> 
> my tumblr: @narcoleptic-drag-queen

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first shalaska fic, and i am so excited!! all i know is no one was going to write the western au of my dreams for me, so i had to take up the mantle. 
> 
> you can find me on tumblr at @narcoleptic-drag-queen, and on @artificialqueens as freyja! feel free to scream with me about shalaska and the new rpdr season!


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